


One More Night

by liberalSpaceship



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mass Effect 3, Shenko - Freeform, UST, shega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberalSpaceship/pseuds/liberalSpaceship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her part in the destruction of the Bahak system, Commander Shepard is in a state of mixed emotions. She finds herself spending more and more time with James Vega--and the Reapers (and Kaidan Alenko) come back into her life.<br/>(Worst summary ever)</p><p>Entry for the Mass Effect 2012 Big Bang</p><p>Art by aesfocus</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well! I actually finished it, and it's about four times as long as I thought it would be... that's a bit crazy!
> 
> Thank you endlessly to Dauphine for being my sound board, my beta-reader, and my cheerleader. Thanks to Alishatorn for organizing the ME BigBang, without which I still wouldn't have written anything in three+ years.
> 
> All my gratitude to aesfocus for putting up with my sorry ass as a collaborator and making me GORGEOUS art.
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who posted their femshep Let's Plays of ME3 on YouTube, which were totally invaluable for reference.

**  
**Art by[aesfocus](http://aesfocus.tumblr.com/post/34524873354)

**Vega**

_Is this necessary?_ Lieutenant James Vega bristled at seeing Commander Shepard detained. The hero’s hands shackled--the woman who defeated Saren, who took down the Collectors-- and there she was, imprisoned on her own ship.

That was about all he could see; the overheads were off in her cell, and she was sitting on the floor, illuminated only by the meagre amount of light that filtered past him in the doorway.

He stepped further into the cell to allow more light in. Her distinctive profile came into view, the hooked nose and full lips so often seen looking serious and determined in promotional vids for the Alliance --or more often, lately, in slanderous news reports. (‘Commander Ophelia Shepard, first human spectre, once presumed dead and now suspected of working in league with the human-rights terrorist group Cerberus, has been linked to the destruction of the batarian Bahak system. Is this a Council plot or an Alliance coup?’)

“Commander Shepard?” The commander turned her head toward Vega, and he instinctively pulled his shoulders back. Even with her hands bound and her shoulders slumped in the shadows, he felt an impulse to salute.

Admiral Anderson stepped from the well lit hall of the Normandy into the shady brig before Vega could act on that impulse. His expression was even heavier than usual, his eyebrows and mouth drawn down in grim parallels. When he spoke, his voice was deep and even--almost carefully so, the voice of a leader.

"No doubt you've heard that the Commander has turned herself in to stand trial for the destruction of the Bahak system, and for her work with Cerberus." Vega gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, and a short “Sir” as the Admiral turned to Shepard.

"Commander Shepard, this is Lieutenant James Vega. He'll be guarding you as you await trial on Earth." The older man's voice softened just slightly as he addressed the prisoner. If Vega hadn't been paying attention, he would have missed the shift in inflection. He heard a soft grunt as Shepard lifted her arms, probably trying to get more comfortable on the corrugated floor of the brig. Surely the shackles couldn't have been too heavy for her. There was amusement in her voice when she spoke, however.

"I'd get up, Lieutenant, but, well, once I got down here I realized I'd need a little help." He still couldn't really see her face clearly in the shadows, but a there was movement there--a smile, a raised eyebrow perhaps, however subtle. He returned the expression on instinct, then cleared his throat as Anderson turned toward him again.

"Lieutenant, Commander Shepard is confined to this floor of the ship, and has to be shackled when we're planetside." There was the military voice Vega was used to, all business, the Admiral’s hands clasped behind his back. He nodded upward at some bulky machinery attached to the ceiling, “And we’ve installed bio-dampers.”

"Understood, sir." Anderson turned to go, "Ah- but, well, sir."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I don't think she's exactly going to try to escape, sir. Besides," Vega flexed his arms reflexively, and pulled his shoulders back again. He smiled, a little too wide and cocksure, and let the barest amount of sarcasm color his words--damn if he wasn't just a little bad with protocol--"I doubt she could get past me, either way." Anderson’s lips pressed even thinner together, though there was a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"It's okay lieutenant," Shepard's voice was smooth, subdued, devoid of the authority it carried so often in vids and interviews. Vega felt his shoulders relax, and forced himself to stand at attention.

There was amusement in her tone as she continued, "After all, we can't let the Batarians catch wind of me being allowed to run free." The commander dropped to seriousness halfway through the sentence, and she leaned back into full shadow once more. Even so, Vega caught her eyebrows furrowing.

Anderson nodded at them both, let an eyeroll slip, "Lieutenant. Commander," and then turned to go. Left alone, the pair lapsed into silence. After his eyes adjusted to the relative gloom, Vega could see her as she watched him, her eyes intense. He looked away, uncomfortable.

The cell was nice, as far as prison cells go. A table and a set of chairs had been squeezed into the corner--clearly not standard issue for a cell. They obviously weren’t concerned about Shepard attempting to escape. Vega wondered why they needed him at all.

A voice crackled in over the intercom. "Ah, Commander?"

"Joker?" Shepard looked up, and addressed the ceiling, as if she needed to look toward the origin of the sound to be heard. James felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

"I just want to say, you turning yourself in-- I get that, I really do. But this meathead guarding you? Seems like overkill, that's all." The owner of the voice was clearly concerned, but there was a pervasive sarcastic lilt that colored his words.

"Joker--the ’meathead’ is right here."

"Ah--uh, right.” A pause. “Commander." The intercom went quiet, and Shepard looked down, but not before she shot an apologetic look the lieutenant’s way.

"Don't worry about it, Commander. Joker-- that’s Jeff Moreau, right? You’ve got history, it makes sense he’d get protective of you?" Vega hadn’t meant it to be a question, but there the inflection was, and it betrayed his curiosity.

"Yeah, you could say that." Her voice was soft, affectionate, but when she looked at her hands, a frown settled across her features. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom almost entirely, which made her expressions easier to read and brought her features into clearer focus.

Of course, he knew what she looked like -- who in the whole damn universe didn't, these days? Whether she was on the vids being commended or condemned, she was a constant news item. Even dead. But despite having seen her probably a thousand times, even when his eyes adjusted to the lighting, it was surreal seeing her in person. He’d had the same feeling when he’d run into celebrities during his youth in California.

Moreau’s voice filtered back over the comms, and announced take off, but Vega barely felt a thing as the Normandy took off--whether to the ship’s credit or the pilot’s, he didn’t know. Vega frowned, then bent down close to the Commander, and illuminated his omni-tool with a flick of his wrist. He forced himself to focus on the display rather than through it, and punched in some numbers.

"The Admiral uploaded your key--just give me a minute." As he typed, Vega looked over his arm at her face in the pale orange glow, using a higher brightness and took longer than he strictly needed in order to unlock her shackles.

Yes, he'd seen plenty of vids of the infamous Commander Shepard, but they had a way of flattening out someone's features, enhancing certain aspects and obliterating others. He studied her features, now, curious. Her jawline was sharper in person, she had a smattering of freckles visible even in the low-light, and her nose looked like a badly healed break, if he was going to be honest about it.

Vega didn’t doubt that the media normally did some editing to soften her up. Except for those lips--if anything, they typically de-emphasized them, as he didn’t remember them being quite so distracting. As if a military woman needed a certain amount of femininity, but couldn’t be taken seriously if she was overtly sexual.

“Uh, Lieutenant?” Shepard’s eyes were on his, and both of her eyebrows were raised.

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” The lock on the shackles opened with a mute click, and he reached forward to help her out of them. She stretched her arms, and he straightened up and offered a hand to help her stand. Shepard got to her feet with a grunt, using his hand to help hoist herself up. As their hands met, Vega was struck with the sudden thought that guarding her would be one of his tougher assignments.

He stifled the urge to shake his head, though it felt fuzzy--confusion, curiosity, and a little bit of lingering intoxication. It figured he’d be picked up right out of a poker match and a bloody fight. It occurred to Vega that he was probably still bleeding, and his hand went up to his forehead. Sure enough, it was sticky with congealed blood. He wondered why nobody had mentioned it to him, and his frown deepened.

“Tough fight?” There was a quirk of Shepard’s lips as she wiped down some dust from her pants.

“Eh, you know. A coupla batarians didn’t really appreciate my defending you.”

One of her eyebrows raised, but all she said was, “You should get it looked at. I dropped Dr. Chakwas off on the Citadel before turning myself in, but even without her, I’m sure there’s someone who can handle finding peroxide in the med bay.”

“Right. Well, er--”

“Go on.”

Vega wondered if unshackling and then abandoning the prisoner would fit anyone’s definition of guard duty, but he did need to get his wounds cleaned, at least. Before he’d taken a few steps toward the door, Shepard cleared her throat.

“Oh, and Vega?” He turned his head, and she was right behind him, one arm looped around his chest. Before he could react, he was in the air, flipping over her comparatively slight body. The ground rushed up to meet him and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

“Don’t ever underestimate me.” Vega lay stunned, staring up at the Commander, her face split in a wide beam.

It was a face he had the feeling he’d be seeing a lot more of.

* * *

 “I hate space travel.” Vega leaned against the doorway to Shepard’s cell. He’d gotten tired of standing outside, with nothing to do but stare at the hallway--it figured that the brig would be the only damn place Cerberus hadn’t added ridiculously large windows to the Normandy’s design.

Shepard rolled up off the hard bench that served as her bed and pulled her shoulders back. Her expression was distant, and he wondered if he’d interrupted her thinking about something besides the number of ceiling panels. She had the lights dimmed again, as usual. More often than not he found her sitting in the dark, no matter the time of day.

“Oh?” Shepard looked through rather than at him, the word more statement than question. Vega frowned and shifted from foot to foot.

“Yeah. The recruitment vids left out the slow-ass travel between the action-packed, galaxy saving missions. As a kid it seemed so...” Vega crossed his arms over his chest and turned one hand over as he trailed off.

“Yeah. Glamorous, right? Or maybe just--”

“Better?” He smiled at Shepard, but she was still fixated at a point somewhere past him. Vega dropped his arms and padded into the cell, flicking the lights on. There was a delay before her eyes tracked him; her head turned like a bad motion tracker. If she noticed that the lights were on, she made no indication. “Still, it sure as hell beats whatever life I would have had otherwise.”

There was a flicker of something in Shepard’s eyes, but he couldn’t tell what. He shifted again as silence stretched on, then clucked his tongue. Shepard leaned forward and stared at the ground.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” she shook her head. “No, that’s not true. This--even all this, it’s better than living on the streets.”

Vega raised his eyebrows. He knew a little of the commander’s past, the same as anyone else. There was a story that wasfor all intents and purposes public knowledge--something that was supposed to be inspirational--a kid off the streets of Earth’s slums, rising to be the first human Spectre and defend the Citadel and Council. He didn’t interrupt as she let out a long sigh.

“It’s just, you know--I never thought I’d be-- detained. Not after leaving that life behind,” she shook her head again, and leaned back against the wall behind her.This was definitely not the inspirational Shepard from all the vids. Vega cleared his throat as his mind circled around possible responses.

“Me either.” A darkness passed over Shepard’s face as he said it. “I mean, you’re _Commander Shepard_. I thought that meant something.”

Her expression darkened further, and Vega fumbled around, making some ponderous noises with his throat. “Shit, that’s not what I meant. I meant--you’re the first human Spectre, and they arrested you? _You?_ ”

By some divine miracle, her expression lightened, though not by much, “It was the right thing to do.” Shepard pursed her lips, and looked at him with her eyebrows furrowed. He stared back at her and tried to school the confusion from his expression. “It was the _only_ thing to do.”

Shepard sighed again, dropped her arms between her legs--all the air just seemed to deflate out of her.

“So guarding a prisoner is boring, that isn’t news” her voice was expressionless as she changed tack, like even she couldn’t muster up the interest required to lend weight to the words.

Vega rolled his neck, “It’s not that--it’s not just that.” He eyed the door and contemplated returning to his post. At least the walls weren’t such heavy company. “Normally I’d pass the time working out or playing poker, but there’s not exactly a gym on this ship and--”

“Poker?” Shepard’s eyes locked on his, an unmissable interest in her expression, “You any good, Vega?”

He shrugged, but his smile widened, “You could say that.” His bank account told another story, but that was neither here nor there

She stood then, and her lips curled into a sly smile. “So. Do you have any cards with you or am I going to have to figure out if I’m allowed to put in a requisition request?”

“Naw, I’ve got some.” Both their smiles broadened. They were close together, and Vega shifted forward on the balls of his feet. “You sure you’re up to the challenge?”

“Lieutenant, I’d be _thrilled_ to relieve you of any spare credits.”

**Shepard**

“Read ‘em and weep, Lieutenant.” Shepard played two-pair, Ace high. Vega swore under his breath--something in Spanish she wasn’t fluent enough to catch.

“You could have warned me that you were _good_ , Commander.”

“What, and spoil the fun?” Shepard laughed out loud at his expression as she reached forward to pull in the chips and stacked them on her looming pile with over-exaggerated care.

“Fun for you, maybe. I just feel like a horse’s ass.” Still, he smiled at her and anted up for the next round.

“Ah, well. At least you don’t look like one.”

“Hm?”

“A horse’s ass, Vega. Couldn’t be further from the truth.”

His neck tinged with pink, and Shepard chuckled as she ante up. Vega smirked at her as he dealt the cards.

“Oh yeah? Like what you see?”

She laughed at him, low in her throat. Still, Shepard took a moment to really look him over, even as more of his neck and cheeks flushed. After a purposefully long moment, where she tilted her head back and forth, lips pursed in an appraising manner, she shrugged,

“I don’t know. You’re a bit _scrawny_ , aren’t you?”

Vega’s mouth opened and then shut, and he pulled his arms back, which emphasized the decidedly un-scrawny state of the mass of muscles that comprised his shoulders and chest. “Who you calling scrawny, Commander?”

“I don’t see anyone else, do you?” She glanced at her cards and slid a chip across the table, taking her time.

“Oh yeah? I defy you to find _one_ marine with better muscles than mine.” This time he actually held up an arm and curled his bicep. Shepard quirked an eyebrow and licked the the underside of her top teeth with a feral grin.

“What can I say, Vega, I’m used to krogan.”

His whole face colored in a deep blush, and he dropped his arm, sputtering incomprehensibly. She tilted her head back and laughed.

“Easy, Lieutenant. I meant in my crew”

He sputtered some more, “Oh.” A sulk spread across his face, in the line of his eyebrows and set of his jaw.

Her eyebrows raised and she suppressed another laugh, “All right, all right. I admit it. You are the most impressively muscled _human_ soldier I’ve ever come across.” The pout dissolved from his face, and Shepard couldn’t help but smile at him--a smile that was perhaps a little too sweet. Well, he was well built, anyone could see that; what was the harm in a little light flirtation? He looked away, and finally saw her bet.

“Hmph. I’ll just have to make sure to hit the gym as soon as we’re back on Earth, if those are the standards I’ve gotta live up to.”

Shepard rolled her eyes, chuckled, and turned in two of her cards for new ones. She had jack shit--but went ahead and bet strong anyway.

Vega let out a puff of air as he played his last chip, “Alright, Commander. You better be bluffing.”

“You don’t trust me?” Mock-hurt colored her words.

“Hah, well, maybe working with Cerberus taught you a little something about deception?” His tone was light, but the words hit her like ice.. She pulled back in her chair, giving Vega a long look. Her jaw ground together, and she could tell from the way his face screwed up that he was regretting the comment.

“That’s true enough.” Her throat felt strangely tight, and suddenly there was a flash in her mind, a memory she had replayed too many times. The way Kaidan’s face snarled up as she tried to explain things to him. The smell of ozone and the slick humidity of Horizon came flooding back to her. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the cards but feeling the perspiration beading on her forehead. Nausea washed over her and her breath went ragged.

“Shepard?” Vega was half-standing, leaning across the small side table they were using to play on, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. Clearing her head, she forced a smile at him, knowing that the expression was hollow.

“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant. A lot of people don’t know what Cerberus did to me, if they changed me.” She looked away, “Hell, even I’m not always sure who I am any more.” She lay the cards down.

“Well I know. You’re Commander Shepard. You stopped the Collectors and prevented a Reaper invasion. Twice. It doesn’t matter that you--”

She looked at him again, eyes wide. He believed her? “It does matter. I had to do some horrible things to stop them. And the Reapers are still coming.” She slid her chair back and stood. Vega straightened.

She couldn’t read his expression, but his voice changed-- it went soft, somehow. It sounded odd to her ears, used to either gruff sarcasm or jokes. “Do you think so?”

“I know so, Lieutenant. I may not know myself, but I know what I need to do.”

He tilted his head at her, his lips open in a small ‘oh’ of confusion. “And what’s that?”

Shepard leaned across the table, eyes serious. The sound of Vega sucking in his breath hit her right in the gut, a familiar warm feeling. She reached a hand down and across the table, slow and deliberate. She saw his eyes flicker in rapid-fire from her face to her hand, the confusion deepening on his features.

In a fluid movement, she scooped up her cards, sank into her chair, and said, “Fold.”

Vega’s laughter rang throughout the cell, and he pulled his chair around to sit in it backwards.

“See, Commander?” The laughter still clung to every syllable, “I knew you were bluffing.” Shepard tossed her cards across the table at Vega, echoing his laughter with her own.


	2. Chapter 2

  **Vega**  


Earth was a lot colder than he remembered. Then again, this was Vancouver, not California. And it was snowing. The shuttle had parked outside the base perimeter--a large, looming facility in tiers of white metal and polished glass. Ringing around the Alliance buildings were smaller but similar buildings--almost certainly apartments full of base brats and lonely spouses.

“Shit that’s cold.” Vega huddled into a too-small coat a few feet behind the Admiral, Moreau, and Shepard, feeling ridiculous. The wind kept grabbing one side of the material and flapping away from his hands. He fumbled with the zipper, still cursing.

Admiral Anderson was saying something to the pilot. He suddenly saluted, and Moreau returned the gesture, his face dark, and turned to go. Vega caught his eye and gave him a brief nod, and the pilot returned it as he moved back toward the shuttle. The two might not have spoke much between Omega and Earth, but Vega had caught the commander talking him up to Moreau once.

He smiled to himself as Shepard turned around, and with a sigh, moved toward him. Her hands were shackled again, but they still made faster work of the zipper than his.

“Good grief, Vega,” she admonished him in a light but far-away tone, “How do you even fire a gun with those hands?”

“They’re deft enough when I need them be, Commander.” There was a warm undertone to his words, and he hoped they would coax a smile from her. Instead the lines around her mouth got tight, and she turned away.

Anderson was watching them, and nodded briefly at Vega as they came close, then addressed Shepard.

“You’ve been assigned to private quarters pending trial, Commander Shepard. Come on, you’re to be debriefed inside.”

The three made a slow procession through the flurry of snow, thanks in part to the shackles around Shepard’s ankles. Vega had almost shouted at the Admiral for that--what was she going to do, run? There was a curious amount of press present.

“Commander Shepard, is it true that you blew up the relay on orders from Cerberus?” “What do the aliens you worked with think of this open hostility toward another species?” “The Batarians are calling for war, Admiral. Care to comment?”

Vega saw Shepard straighten her shoulders and do her best to stride with purpose. He set his gaze forward and his expression blank, and kept a few paces behind her. All of three of them were silent. The snow settled in her curls and on her shoulders, dusty white against the dark coloration of her clothes and body. Vega moved to brush the snowflakes off, but instead took loose hold of her upper arm. The reporters’ voices kicked up in volume as their small group reached the security entrance; Vega could barely hear himself think over their accusations and questions. His eyes narrowed.

The doors at the entrance opened and they stepped into the security beam. Vega shifted and looked sidelong at Shepard as the blue lights scanned over them. Her gaze was steady and she seemed distracted, far away from the proceedings. He fought the urge to ask her where she was.

“This way, Admiral. Commander.” A rather well-built soldier beckoned them through, her voice steady and emotionless, as if she were directing a new recruit looking for the latrine.

The din of reporters disappeared with a hiss of the doors, to be replaced with the muted murmur of Alliance personnel and the mechanical noise of computers and omni-tools being used.

He must have given the soldier a look as they walked past, as she added, “Lieutenant,” with an apologetic start. Well, he may have been hard to miss in his ill-fitting jacket, but anyone would be distracted by the delivery of Commander Shepard to Alliance custody. Vega cleared his expression again.

The three followed some route Anderson seemed to know well, still in silence. After what may have been the slowest, most silent elevator ride of his life, Vega stepped with Shepard out onto a spacious lobby. The skyline view out the windows seemed to catch her attention, a peculiar expression crossing her face, as if she were registering her surroundings at last.

“Your room is right through here, Commander.” Shepard didn’t really look at Anderson as the admiral guided them a side hallway and entered a code for one of the doors.

Shepard’s quarters were pretty nice, all things considered. They were big and, Vega noted as the Commander stepped through, the bed looked downright comfortable. She had an ensuite kitchen and at least one door--her own bathroom? Certainly these were prisoner’s quarters--or barracks.

There were two people in dress blues that waiting for her; Vega didn’t recognize either from the quick glimpse he caught of them. The Admiral put his hand on Vega’s shoulder.

“We don’t need to be in there.”

“No, sir.” They hung back as one of them began to debrief Shepard. Vega heard the words ‘probation’ and saw Shepard turn her head to look out the windows again as the doors slid shut.

“I’ve never seen her like this.” Anderson’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He shook his head, and turned to Vega.

“Well, lieutenant. We got you both to Earth, and that’s what we wanted.”

“‘We’, sir?”

“The Alliance,” his tone made the separation between Admiral and David Anderson clear enough, “In any case, you have a few days shore leave while we evaluate your next assignment. I’d make use of it--there’s no telling how much time any of us will have soon.”

Vega frowned, looking from the admiral to the closed doors. This could be the last time he saw Shepard, and the idea didn’t sit well.

“Sir, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to continue my current assignment. After all, Shepard is still going to need an escort, isn’t she?”

The Admiral’s eyebrows raised slightly. “You don’t think that’s a waste of your talents, Lieutenant?”

“It’s not that, sir. I just think she might need a familiar face around.”

Anderson turned his head toward the door as well, as it swung open. The officers in their dress blues walked past them briskly. Inside, with her shackles off at least, Shepard was still staring out the window at Vancouver.

“You may be right, Lieutenant.” The older man sighed. “Still, take that shore leave. You’re going to need it.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

**Shepard**

The walls seemed to be closing in on her. Shepard paced back and forth in her room. It was sizable enough, but being confined to it made the spacious room seem unduly small--claustrophobic, even.

Exactly how long did they expect her to wait for news? She sighed and looked out the windows again. Vancouver, Canada. Everything she could see was base housing, but she couldn’t stop herself from scanning for the bay, for a certain house.

Her eyes flickered across the horizon, although she didn’t even know if her window faced the right direction. It was odd and comforting at the same time--to think that Kaidan’s parents could well be in the same city she was in. He could visit them on leave, no problem-- he might even request to come to this base if called to Earth. Would it even make a difference if he did?

That line of thinking wouldn’t do; Shepard wrenched her gaze away from the horizon to look a little closer to the base. She had a view of someone’s garden from her room, a neat little plot of trees and bushes, with some areas that were clearly waiting for the imminent Spring thaw.

Right then, everything was still bare, dusted with what she’d heard was a late snow. It looked quiet, peaceful--and cold. She shivered, pulling her arms in. At least in space there was climate control. The Alliance seemed to keep the base about five degrees colder than her preference.

“Well, the view is good, at any rate.” Shepard shook her head and resumed pacing.

There was a chime at her door, and she strode forward, swiping at the door controls with her omni-tool. All the military functionality had been disabled, though they hadn’t bothered to remove any of her hacking progs. It was just as well--she’d have had them back up and running in less than thirty minutes, and they knew it.

Outside was Operations Chief Mazy Greene. She was a thick woman, about ninety-eight percent muscle and neck, with close-cropped blonde hair, and she loomed over Shepard. Chief Greene was remarkably like Vega -- minus the personality. She suppressed a frown, and instead put on an exaggerated smile, leaning in.

“Good morning, Chief. Here to whisk me off on an exciting adventure? No? Well, why don’t you come in, make yourself more comfortable, tell me all about your innermost desires.” She was being petty, she knew. The chief made no indication that she had heard this, as she had for the last three days. Ophelia sighed and leaned back.

Greene squared her shoulders, “Would you like to go anywhere, ma’am?”

“You asking me out, Chief?”

“The facilities here are open to you, ma’am, as long--”

“As I have an escort. I know.” Shepard had tried to take a tour on the first day, but after an hour of pulling teeth to have a conversation with No-Nonsense Operations Chief Mazy Greene she’d given up. “I’ll let you know if I plan on leaving my quarters.”

When Chief Green didn’t salute and turn heel as usual, Shepard quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I’m under orders to make sure you’re getting exercise, ma’am.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Alliance wants you fit, Commander Shepard. Admiral Anderson himself asked that I make sure you were ‘stretching your legs’, as he put it.”

Shepard actually sneered, “For what? So I don’t look too soft when the damned ‘Defense Committee’ finally remembers I’m here?”

“I didn’t presume to ask, ma’am.”

“Of course not. Look, Chief, I said I’d call you if I needed you.” She turned to shut the door, but Greene stepped forward to trigger the safeties.

“There are three separate training gyms, and I’ve been authorized to let you use a training sim if you seemed interested.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes and moved back toward the window. The training sims were glorified games--and she was in the mood to actually _shoot_ something.

“See if you can get me on the shooting range.” she looked over her shoulder at Greene’s stoic expression.

“The _real_ shooting range.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, ma’am. You’re not permitted firearms of any kind.”

Shepard ground her back teeth together.

“That’s probably best, Greene. We wouldn’t want the Commander going rogue on you.” The warm male voice sliced right through Shepard’s mood, and she felt both her jaw and her body relax. She spun around and held back a laugh. Greene really did look like a strange female copy of Vega. The heavy jawline, cropped hair, and tapered hips didn’t suit her half as well as it did him.

“Vega!” Her voice lilted up unintentionally. “I mean, good to see you, Lieutenant. You wouldn’t happen to be relieving Chief Greene here of duty, would you?” She sounded a little desperate, even to her own ears, and mentally chided herself.

“That I am. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier, Chief. Day after shore leave, you know? Headache bigger’n madder than a raging krogan.”

The Chief looked Vega over once, snapped off a quick salute, and parted.

“Whehoo! Bit of the cold shoulder, I see.” Vega strode toward her, all smiles. Her own expression settled back into a frown.

“You have no idea. Next time you take shore leave, just tell them to lock me in.”

He chuckled at her, “That bad, ey Commander?”

She shook her head, and rolled her left shoulder back, “She just took her role very seriously. No socializing with the prisoner--or with anyone, as far as I could tell. She has the personality of a particularly unenthusiatic brick.” Shepard’s face coiled into an aggravated snarl.

“Hey now. Easy,” she reached out to hold her shoulders, but she turned away, “Easy, Commander! Here.” Vega straightened his shoulders, “I solemnly swear not to take any more shore leave while tasked with escorting you.” A pause, “Better?”

She let herself smile, “It’s a start.”

“Anyway, Commander, did you need me for anything?”

“I’m supposed to get out, but,” she turned her head away, looking over the room. It felt a little less small, now, “I thought I’d work on what I’m going to say when--if--they ever call me to trial.” Without the looming threat of having to spend the day with Chief Greene, Shepard felt a bit less trapped.

“Alright. You’ve got me on comms, right? I thought I’d hit the gym. I’m all out of shape.” She looked him over. Even after several weeks stuck in the Normandy, he was taut, firm, and muscles all over. She raised an eyebrow and smiled, waving him out the door.

* * *

Shepard heard the chime of someone waiting at her door, but stayed face-down on her bed. It chimed again, and she rolled over, lighting up her omni-tool and punching in the code to open the door.

Vega strode in, a familiar look of confusion on his face. She curled up and away and ended up facing the windows.

“Hey, Commander?” She could see his reflection in the window, hovering at the door.

“Mmnf.” Shepard barely lifted an arm to wave him in. She saw that his reflection was moving, getting larger, but didn’t turn around to face him.

“Everything all right in here? I expected you to call me hours ago. You know I got special dispensation for you to go out on the firing range today.”

Shepard sighed and rolled to sit up, though she was still facing the windows.

“So now they’re trying to placate me?”

“Hey, I put my ass on the line vouching for your stability. Don’t tell me you don’t want to go.”

She stood, turning toward him as she did so, and felt her ire rising, “No, Vega. I don’t want to go. What I _want_ is to be called to trial and get it over with. What are they waiting for?” It had been a month. One month of confinement, of needing an escort if she so much as wanted to step out into the hall. She narrowed her eyes at Vega, annoyed with the hurt expression that clouded his features, and aimed a pillow at him.

He caught it and clucked, “Very mature, Commander.” She glowered and turned away to stalk across the room.

“I’m sick up to here with everything.” Her hand jabbed at the air above her head, though she didn’t stop pacing.

“I hear ya, I do. But if you’ll just--” he stepped in front of her, “stop,” she ducked to get past him, and he grabbed her shoulders, “for _one second_ , Shepard.”

She puffed out her cheeks at him, and felt not unlike a five year old about to slip into a full on tantrum. She sighed and took some deep breaths.

“I’m sorry, James.” Either the apology or his name elicited an eyebrow raise. He let her shoulders go and cracked a smile.

“You just need to blow off some steam, ey _muchachona_?”

It was her turn to make a face; her eyebrows rose at the nickname, but she stopped herself from returning the smile, “Hm. Maybe I do. Any suggestions?”

He seemed to notice how close they were and took a step back, rolling his shoulder and looking away, “Yeah. Maybe I could smuggle in some booze. Nothing too special, mind you. I’m still kinda light on credits from that poker game.”

She stepped back as well, turning her gaze out the window again, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, James.” A small sigh escaped her lips. Across the room, her terminal lit up with a beep to indicate she had received a new message. She glanced at the terminal, and twisted back toward it, leaving Vega with a frown settling across his features.

It was from Anderson, and short.

_Shepard,_

_Sorry I couldn’t come in person--been kept busy. The Defense Committee has requested your presence tomorrow, seven-hundred sharp._

_The media has been invited._

_David Anderson, ADM._

A rush of mixed emotions hit her and left her stomach a churning mass of relief and sudden fear. She sank to the chair beside her desk.

“Commander?” The concern in Vega’s voice was almost palpable. She turned her head up to him, and smiled a weak smile, rueful.

“You know what? It looks like I’m going to need that drink after all.”

* * *

The night had been a complete bust. Vega hadn’t been able to procure any spirits, and Shepard hadn’t slept a wink. Instead, she’d paced the length of her quarters over and over, as Vega told her stories about his upbringing--mostly about his uncle and grandmother, some stupid things he’d done. Why he had stayed with her, she couldn’t say-- but she had been grateful for him nonetheless.

Finally, Vega had suggested blackjack, and she had agreed. The game lasted a little less than an hour. Shepard had thrown the cards down in frustration and shooed him from the room after her fifth bust. The rest of the night she had laid in bed, watching the sky melt from navy to pink.

She didn’t remember dressing and suspected that she looked a wreck, even though Vega had assured her at least seven times that she looked “better than fine”. Shepard shook her head again and waited in front of the doors to the council room. Sweat beaded at her hairline and temples, and she swiped at it, almost certainly ruining her rushed attempt at makeup. Vega’s hand touched her shoulder, and she realized she had been bouncing in place.

“It’s seven forty-five. What’s _taking_ so long?” Shepard didn’t like the petulance in her voice one bit.

“I’m sure they’re just not ready to face the amazing Commander Shepard.” Despite a soft chuckle, his hand dropped; the doors finally opened.

“Joker?” The pilot--now in Alliance blues again-- hobbled out, followed by Admiral Anderson.

“Hey, Commander. Looking good. I see you still have your shadow.” Despite the smile on his face, Joker’s voice was strained, and Anderson looked grim. Behind them, she could barely make out the members of the committee--they seemed to be a nothing more than a line of stern faces and folded hands.

“They’re ready for you, Shepard.” With a nod at Anderson, she pulled her shoulders back, and strode forward. Vega trailed after her.

“Not you, Lieutenant.” Glancing over her shoulder in sudden alarm, Shepard saw him open his mouth to protest as the doors closed between them.

**Vega**

Shepard was making him uneasy. It would have been one thing if she fumed, or started pacing again, or even looked sad. Instead, she was sitting--relaxing!--at the small dining table in her quarters as she drank coffee with Moreau.

He hovered on the edge of the conversation, occasionally letting out a half-hearted chuckle. It was hard to focus on the conversion with as his stomach somersaulted.

They’d officially discharged her from the Alliance, stripped her of rank and title, and put her under formal house arrest. That much he’d had the pleasure of watching live from the antechamber. After the feed had switched off, she’d been in there another half an hour, and when she came out, she had been livid but silent, fists clenched and mouth drawn. He had let her be--if it was pertinent, he’d find out sooner or later.

“So you’ve been talking to the Committee this whole time?” Shepard’s attention was focused on Moreau, who shrugged and smiled back at her.

“Yeah. Me, Anderson, even Admiral Hackett--they’ve been grilling us non-stop, I’m telling you.”

“And nobody thought to tell me?” She took a long drink of coffee, which hid the smile softening her features.

“You know how it is in the Alliance, Shepard. Everything’s all red tape and non-disclosure.” Moreau sat forward, his movements slow and careful, and adjusted his hat. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Officially, I wasn’t here.”

“Right, no unapproved visitors.” They both rose and embraced, Shepard’s arms held loose, as though she were afraid to break him, “Thanks for not being here, Joker. And for whatever you told them to save my neck.”

“Ah, it was mostly Anderson--but hey, any time, Shepard.”

Vega only thought to stand after Moreau turned toward him a with a pointed look. He saw the pilot out and spared a quick glance toward Shepard. She was looking out the window again, her shoulders drawn together.

Outside her quarters, Moreau stopped.

“Listen, Vega. You watch out for her, all right. I know she looks like she’s keeping it together, but this is going to hit her harder than she'd ever let on. She’ll be vulnerable, you know?”

It took him a moment to process the source of the pilot’s concern, but then Vega smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got her back.”

“Yeah...” there was something sad about the other man’s smile, “I’m sure you do.”

* * *

“Hey, Commander, I’m going to hit the gym.” Vega waited at the comm outside Shepard’s door for a response. Instead of her normal reply, the door slid open. She was only half dressed, in her slacks and an undershirt--Vega straightened his shoulders and looked at her face. Her features were set in a vague frown that carried the hint of a storm.

“This early?” Shepard crossed her arms and turned her head away.

“It’s oh-eight thirty, commander.” He leaned in and around to look at her, leaning one arm on the top of the door frame. He tried cracking a smile and hoped that would erase the frown on her face--but it only deepened. Vega’s eyebrows came together in confusion. “You’ve normally been up for a few hours, Shepard. I figured when you didn’t page me that you me that you didn’t need me for anything.”

“It’s not like I need you guarding my quarters now, James. You’re just my escort for when the Defense Committee needs my ‘expert opinion’, as little as that means to them..” Shepard moved back in the doorway, shaking her head, but she didn’t break eye contact with him. He lowered his arms.

“Then what’s the issue?”

She stared back at him for a long moment, her mouth and eyes guarded, and then let out a sigh.

“I don’t know. Just go. I can always ask for _Chief Greene_ if I want to stretch my legs.” He saw her reach for the door controls on her side, but he stuck his hand in and triggered the safety before they could slide shut again.

“Just a minute, Commander--”

“You don’t have to call me that any more, _Lieutenant_.” Shepard turned her back to him and paced across the floor to grab her shirt. Vega only hesitated for a moment before following her in, eyes set in a straight line of frustration.

“What _do_ you want me to call you then?”

She turned back to him, her hands clenched around her shirt, but otherwise unresponsive.

“Fine then. Ophelia Shepard, isn’t it?” For a moment he thought she was going to throw the shirt at him, but instead her jaw set and her eyes flashed. He couldn’t help it--he smiled.

“ _Ophelia_ , if you’re tired of being cooped up--”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

His smile dissolved, “I am! That’s why I want to go to the gym, get my body going, you know?”

“So _go_!” Her voice was venom, just like his _abuela_ 's when she wanted to spend time with him as a teenager and he was too busy being, well, a teenager.

“Hold on. You realize you can always come with me?”

Shepard’s shoulders slumped. _Not this again_. Seeing her slip into a funk was a sure fire way to ruin both of their days. “You’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“I could probably use the exercise. This,” she actually threw her overshirt at him now, “is too damn tight.”

He cast a quick look at her body, and the smile returned, with a deep-throated chuckle.

“Damn, Ophelia, if you think you need any improvement--” the look on her face could have killed, “ah, well-- you must think I’m a total slob.” He pouched out his abdomen for comical effect. The corner of her mouth twitched, threatening a smile, and he straightened. “Anyway, I just thought, you know, we could blow off some steam for once.”

“Excellent idea, James. Let’s go.” Shepard pushed past him, not having bothered to put on her shirt. Vega trailed after her, shaking his head.

**Shepard**

The gym was bigger and emptier than she’d expected. Well, that suited her fine.

“Where do you want to start?” Vega emerged from the locker room, and Shepard squinted at him. He looked back at her and his face morphed into that all too familiar confused expression it often wore.

Shepard circled Vega for a moment, trying to decide what was bothering her. He was wearing a tight undershirt, loose fitting pants, and--she started to laugh.

“Good lord, James. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your boots on.” He was wearing trainers--which was perfectly reasonable, all things considered. So was she. But they made his feet look oddly small in comparison to his normal shoes--not to mention to the rest of his body.

“Yeah, well, someone complained that they scuffed up the floors.” His neck turned red, which set her to smiling wider.

“Anyway, I was thinking maybe the boxing bags. I’m not really a treadmill type if I can avoid it.” There was some necessity for it on space missions, but she’d had her fill of walking, “Besides, it’s been too long since I got to punch something.”

This time he laughed, “I’ll warn the reporters.”

She smacked at him, “That was one time!” He danced back, laughed again, and put up his fists.

“How about you skip the bags, do a little dance with me?” Vega actually wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“You’re serious?”

He kept up the boxing stance, hopping from foot to foot with more agility than she would have guessed he was capable of.

“Yeah. I think I owe you for that body-toss earlier, right Ophelia?”

That got her. It had been so long since anyone called her Ophelia, and he just wouldn’t stop. She put up her own fists, snarled, and flashed her teeth, “You’re on, James.”

They made their way to the sparring area and took some mock-swipes at each other until they hit the mats.

Then he came in fast--much faster than she expected, and she barely had time to block, then spun away from him.

She aimed for his ribs, but he was faster and brought an elbow down to block the blow. She narrowed her eyes, watching him move, and danced back a few steps. He was doing the same thing--and maybe even hesitated as he did so.

Funny, she thought she’d taught him not to do that. One exaggerated swipe left and she connected to his jaw with her right fist. It was a solid hit--they both winced, but he laughed and shook his head.

“Good one. Let’s see if you can get another.” He came forward and they circled each other. They were mirror images, deftly blocking each blow. Her eyes were locked on his, but she’d been in enough fist fights to watch his body, to anticipate his movements. She felt herself click over to automatic, noticing how he moved, instead of just _seeing_ what he did.

Vega was clearly more experienced than she was in close range. His stance was good--close but loose. His shoulders rippled as he punched, left-right-left, trying to return the blow, each punctuated with a soft grunt. Shepard found herself losing ground, and she began to sweat, her lip curling in a mock-snarl.

“Let’s see if you can even get one, James.”

He growled, going in for her shoulder but missing by a mile as she feinted back, laughing. It felt good--great even, just to _move_ , to work up a sweat.

He was sweating too. His undershirt had begun to cling to his chest, and she knew hers was doing much the same. Pretty soon they’d both be drenched. Her nostrils filled with the salty smell of sweat with an undertone of musk as he came in close--

Vega’s fist landed squarely in her stomach, and she fell back with an emphatic “Ooph!”; her head was set spinning.

She put up her hands, palms forward, and tried to catch her breath, “All right, all right.”

“Done so soon, Shepard?” His mouth curled in a grin of it’s own. “I don’t think so.”

He came in close again: “You’ll,” another blow, to her shoulder, “never,” that time she blocked, fists formed again, “get back in”--she swiped for his jaw and sent him a few steps back--“shape” she pressed her advantage, “like,” and aimed another for his stomach, “that!”

She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but one of his arms arm circled her waist and pinned her left arm to her back as he grabbed her right bicep. Shepard struggled for a moment, and then went still as he whispered into her neck.

“Not bad, Ophelia.”

**Vega**

It was late, but exactly how late, Vega wasn’t sure. He lay on his bunk, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, staring at the ceiling.

“Not bad?” he’d muttered this to himself over and over all night, but it didn’t stop sounding stupid.

A familiar, hot feeling twisted in his stomach, and his breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to breathe, counting to five as he inhaled and exhaled.

It did no good, trying to sleep. When he closed his eyes, her face flashed on his eyelids. His mind filled with the memory of his body against her back, how she went still and then pulled away. When he breathed in, the citrus smell of her body wash--or maybe it was just her skin?--flooded his nostril.

“No, no,” Vega sat up, swung his legs over his bed, and stood. His own quarters were small--especially compared to Shepard’s. There was barely enough room for him to stride three paces, but he did so anyway, and rested his head against the cool wall.

“Get it together, Vega.” But he closed his eyes again, thinking of the frustrated snarl of her lips as she tried to get in a second blow, of the way her hips had moved as she circled him. A smile came to his own lips, unbidden.

He breathed out again, and knocked his forehead against the wall a few times. A return knock came from the other side, and he moved back, startled.

Shepard’s quarters were adjacent to his own--but he hadn’t expected her to still be up. Without thinking over-hard, he pulled up his omni-tool, patched through to hers, and asked:

“You up?”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounded husky even over the comms--well, she was probably just tired. It had been a long day. After sparring, they’d hit just about every piece of equipment in the gym, as long as they could do it solo. Neither had seemed to wanted to be too close to the other

“Can’t sleep?”

“You could say that.” Had there been a soft chuckle at the end of that? Vega went back to his bed and sank down onto the hard mat that passed for a mattress.

“Me either. I can’t seem to relax, you know?” His voice sounded so small, and he realized he was whispering. Well, it was late.

“That’s too bad, James. I guess it’s hard?”

“What?” He flushed, and he heard her laugh more distinctly this time.

“Relaxing on those bricks the Alliance calls beds.”

“I’m used to it. What’s your excuse? Your bed looks plenty soft.” Vega tried to keep his tone light, but he sounded like a fool to his own ears.

“I’m a little distracted.” There was a rustling sound over the channel, like sheets.

“Oh, yeah?” His throat felt dry and he shook his head, and tried to clear the first thought that came to mind.

Another laugh, low and throaty, “Yeah.”

He found himself coughing, “Ah, well... maybe I ought to let you to it, then.”

“Ha... Good night, James.”

“... Good night, Ophelia.” The comm link closed with a soft chime, and he closed his omni-tool. Vega stared at the wall between the rooms for awhile and let his eyes readjust. His head felt light. With a curse, he got back into bed, slipped his hand down his body, and closed his eyes.

**Shepard**

Daylight woke her and found Shepard with a smile. She rolled out of bed, tousled her hair, and padded to the window. Her curls felt too long, and she mused about getting a haircut.

Down below in the garden, Spring had come and gone, and everything was green tinged with yellow. Lazy heat lines spun a mirage in the air off some of the adjacent rooftops. There was a young child playing in the garden with his mother. Shepard moved away from the windows and stretched with a groan. Her muscles ached in a good, satisfied way, but she anticipated spending a little longer in the shower than was strictly speaking necessary to let them relax.

Once she’d showered, she knocked on the wall behind her bed, grinning. There was a long pause, then a return knock, and she sent a swift message to Vega that just read: ‘Breakfast?’.

He was at her door in moments. The lieutenant didn’t quite look her in the eye, which prompted a wry smile and an eyebrow quirk.

“You ever get to sleep, James?”

“I... yeah.”

“That’s good. Come on, I’m starving, and I don’t want vat-grown bacon and egg substitute from my mini-fridge.” Nor was she in the mood to cook, however fast the microwave went.

“Vat-grown bacon and egg substitute in the mess hall, then?” He met her eyes and a smile warmed his whole face.

“Mmm--sounds delicious.” She linked her arm in his casually as they left, and noted how his muscles tensed as she did so.

“Uh, Ophelia?”

“James?”

“Do you think that’s appropriate?”

“You mind?” Something in the pit of her stomach twinged.

“It’s not that, exactly. It’s just--I’m your escort. Professional duty and all.” She let his arm go with an exaggerated sigh, but nodded. Shepard wasn’t exactly sure what had possessed her to take his arm in the first place, but he was right that she shouldn’t.

They walked through the halls in quasi-comfortable silence. A group of privates passed them--

“--just back in from some mission.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Alenko’s division. The biotics, you know?”

Shepard felt that twinge in her stomach drop like a lead balloon, and her feet stopped. Vega kept going for a few paces before he noticed.

“Shepard?”

She blinked a few times, and looked at Vega, with a feeling as if she’d never seen him before. “Hm? Oh, sorry Lieutenant. You know I-- I think I’ll just make my own breakfast, actually.” He looked like she’d just kicked a puppy, so she added, “Well, breakfast for two?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah... I’m not really up for a group setting.” She glanced around her, suddenly feeling exposed, as if every eye were on her, and her own eyes jumped to every head of dark hair that passed by. Nothing.

“Okay.”

* * *

Shepard was quiet all through breakfast, glancing at her terminal approximately once every ten seconds. Vega hadn’t pried--he never pried. He hadn’t even pried as she dismissed him for the day, though there was a brief return of the kicked dog expression.

The next day, she’d told Vega she wanted to stretch her legs, and they’d gone just about everywhere she was allowed to go, until he got frustrated and asked her if she was wandering the same corridors over and over for her health or just to drive him mad. Disgruntled, Shepard returned to her quarters and told Vega to hit the gym. He’d gone, but not without muttering to himself.

Shepard spent the afternoon alternating between pacing and reading every extranet report she was allowed access to-- there was nothing from the ANN that seemed to link to Kaidan. If he was really in Vancouver, why hadn’t she heard anything more? The sight of her empty inbox just made her sigh, though she checked it constantly.

In her search, Shepard found some brief reports about a recent and unexpected silence from the batarians. Her net access was so limited that trying to research was just as frustrating as waiting for a communication that clearly wasn’t coming. All she found (outside of some raving posts about how the batarians were gearing up for war, since Shepard’s punishment had been unsatisfactory) were vague comments about unprecedented radio silence, and a few calls to send someone to check on them.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh as the chime for her door rang. Shepard bolted upright and noticed with a start that it had long since grown dark outside.

Outside the door was Vega--holding up a bottle of something clear. The sight of him brought an unexpected smile to her lips.

“You seemed stressed, Commander. I thought this might help?”

“You’re going to get caught, waving that bottle around like that.”

“Not if you let me in.” She reached out and he stumbled forward as she pulled at his arm.

“James, were you already drinking?”

“Eh, maybe a little.” He smiled at her, broad and a little stupi. All Shepard could do was shake her head and push the button to close her door.

“Are you drunk, Lieutenant?”

“Not yet. I was hoping we could change that. An’ what’s with this ‘Lieutenant’ business?”

“You know, I may be a civilian now, but you’re on duty--and it’s your rank.” Still, she was pleased to see him. If anyone could provide her with distraction, it had proved to be James Vega.

“Not tonight. TechnicallyGreene is on call.” Vega swaggered past her to the mini kitchen, set the bottle down and rustled around in the cupboard. “I, uh, was hoping you wouldn’t need her for anything.”

Shepard walked over and leaned across the counter that separated her living area from the kitchen, and picked the bottle up with the intent of examining the label. There wasn’t one, and she winced.

“Phew, James, what is this?”

“Alcohol. You drink it, it gives your whole body a nice warm feeling. You gonna turn me down?”

She swished the bottle around as he set down two glasses, “I might.” Unscrewing the top, she gave the substance an exploratory sniff. Her eyes watered, but she leaned forward again to pour some into both glasses. Vega’s grin widened.

They each grabbed a glass and hovered on either side of the counter. She watched him and his daredevil grin, then tilted the glass back. The liquid didn’t taste so much as feel like acid, and the aroma singed her nostrils as well as her throat.

The glass clanked solidly as she thumped it down, still mostly full. She found herself laughing, “Jesus, James.” He leaned back, taking a sip.

“What, is it too strong for you?”

“I could strip the paint off my armor with this stuff. But no, it’s not too strong.” With that bald-faced lie, Shepard picked up her glass again and beckoned to the chairs around her table. “And I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s with this ‘Ophelia’ thing? What’s wrong with Shepard?”

He came around the counter and settled into a chair, “Well, everyone calls you Shepard.” Vega took another sip from his glass and she noticed that he watched her as she sat.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I just wanted to call you something... else.”

Shepard muddled on this and took another swig. This one went down less like acid and just like fire, “So you think you’re special?”

His smile faded, and his eyes got serious. Her stomach lurched forward.

White noise seemed to fill Shepard’s ears, but she leaned back, letting herself smile wide, “Hell, I didn’t tell you to stop calling me Ophelia.” That brought the smile back to his face.

* * *

 

Barely a glass in, and Shepard was staring out the window again. Through the corner of her eye, she saw Vega reach across the table, but he stopped short of touching her arm.

“Hey?”

She turned her head to him, and realized he had been in the middle of sentence.

“Sorry, James,” she gestured to her mostly empty glass, “I guess I got to thinking. I was on the extranet today--”

“You see the news about the batarians, I take it?”

She nodded, unsurprised, “Yeah, I did. I...” Shepard shook her head and folded her hands around her glass.

“I guess I’m scared,” the admission sounded small, and she hated herself for it.

James leaned forward, picking up and uncorking the bottle. He began to pour her another drink.

“Me too, Ophelia.” He refilled his own glass and held it up for a toast. She obliged and allowed herself a weak smile.

“To the future.”

* * *

 

An uncounted number of glasses later, Shepard had unbuttoned her overshirt and was swaggering around, doing a very bad imitation of James, presenting her curled bicep for him to inspect. She prattled in very broken Spanish, not so much straying as vaulting over the line of good taste.

Still, Vega laughed loud and deep, and then she was laughing too as she moved back toward him in the chair and draped herself across his shoulders. She just meant to steady herself, but Shepard stayed for a moment, breathing deep. His smell came back to her, a little spice and body wash with that undertone of musk that played havoc with her senses.

His hands had found their way to her sides, and he was pulling her back yet holding her close with a determined expression. The world zeroed in on that pressure on her sides, and her heart pounded loud and fast.

“James.” Shepard wasn’t sure what tone she used--it was a bit admonishing, maybe even stern. But he just looked at her and she leaned her head down to brush her lips against his.

Then he was hoisting her up, and through the haze of her mind she wondered at how light he made her feel. His mouth pressed against hers with a hunger as he pinned her to the wall, and she arched against the wall, toward him. His hips--his whole body-- were firm against her, and from the wall he moved her toward the bed. Vega didn’t so much lay her down as tangle with her, his body pressed down on hers, as their hands roamed freely.

She moaned low in her throat and closed her eyes. Kaidan’s face floated into her vision, blurry around the edges, backlit by the memory of her cabin’s low lighting. His expression had been so soft, tender, and a little unsure--

“James, wait.” He pulled back, his expression unreadable.

“Oph--” she heard his throat clear, watched his neck as he swallowed, transfixed by the sharp lines of underside of his jaw, at the start of the criss-cross of tattoo on his neck, “Ophelia?”

“I--- I’m drunk. And I--” the words floated just out of reach, as her mouth resisted forming words about Kaidan, about Horizon, about how frustrated and confused she was. Instead:

“I don’t want you to go--”

“But I can’t stay.”

“No.” He started to stand, but she tightened the grip of her thighs around his waist to stop him, “no, you can stay. But I don’t think we should--there are rules--”

Anger flashed across his face, and he kissed her again, “Let them at me.”

She moaned into his mouth but pulled her head back into the pillows, “I don’t want to see you hurt, James.”

“I’ll be fine.” His eyes were so dark. She unhooked a hand from behind his neck, and touched his cheek before she kissed him. She had meant it to be a light kiss, but he pushed into it, fierce and strong. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his shoulder and sighed, long and hard.

“Damnit, James. I want you to stay but, even if there weren’t-- even if you wouldn’t---” she shook her head, “We can’t--” Despite what her body insisted, there was just enough coherency, just enough sense lingering in her mind to know this couldn’t happen now--that it wouldn’t be fair, or right--she’d spent all day thinking about Kaidan, for fuck’s sake. Shepard let her legs drop from around Vega’s torso and frowned.

He actually laughed, loosening his grip and propping himself up on his elbows above her.

She looked up at him, her face twisted with confusion, but he smiled, “So we won’t have sex. Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but if I get to stay--” he leaned down to kiss her again, “there will be other nights?”

All of the tension released from her body, and she murmured a short, “Thank you,” against Vega’s neck, not answering the question. Her brain was cloudy with drink, and the sharp smell of Vega’s skin, and a host of other feelings she didn’t feel like addressing, but she smiled.

* * *

Shepard’s head was pounding when she woke, and she refused to open her eyes. A steady chirp from her terminal seemed to reverberate against the inside of her skull, but there were arms around her.

She huddled in to them in an attempt to block the light that was streaming in from the windows, but that movement made Vega stir.

“You up?” Even his whisper was loud--far too loud. She groaned and tried to roll over onto her stomach. His arms released her, and the bed suddenly went cold. Shepard buried herself under a pillow, curling up.

There was a sound to her side. She peeked out and got an eyeful of Vega’s torso--and a glass of water. Shepard sighed and rolled up, reaching for the water. She downed it in three gulps, and felt the bed shift as Vega sat down.

“Good morning,” the tone of his voice was far too chipper, and she opened both eyes just to glower at him--him and that stupid hair, the dark ridge of his brow-- that smile.

“Don’t you get hangovers?”

“You kidding? My head feels like someone rammed a mako into it -- hang on.”

He punched something in to the side console of the bed and the whole room went a pleasant shade of dark. Ophelia twisted and leaned against Vega. With one hand, she traced the tattoo on his neck. Goosebumps sprang up across his skin.

“So you spent the night.” It was a pleased--if somewhat hoarse-- voice that escaped her.

“As I recall, you told me to.”

“I did at that.” She sat that for a moment, until the chirping of her terminal could no longer be ignored. With a disappointed sigh, Shepard got to her feet and shuffled toward it, and opened the message.

_Hey, Commander. Thought I might get down to see you today--if they let me. Here’s hoping._

_Kaidan_

The smile dropped from her lips like a stone in water, and she checked the time. It had been hours since he sent it. Kaidan--Kaidan could be here, to see her--any moment.

“Uh, James?”

Vega walked up behind her, and she had barely swiped the message away before his arms wrapped around her. Her breath caught suddenly, and she wriggled from his grasp. Her headache intensified.

“Yeah?”

“Think you better get out of here before Greene notices you haven’t reported for duty?” She forced a smile at him, feeling her throat go cold.

He didn’t seem to notice, but smiled back, a touch sheepish, “Yeah, probably.” She saw him off with a quick peck on the lips, unsteady, and he swaggered off.

Shepard took a long shower, dressed, and then wandered toward the window. The child was back in his garden, playing with a toy spaceship. She focused on that, pushing the whirlwind of thoughts out of her head.

Her door slid open without a chime, and she turned, not knowing who to expect--or who she wanted to expect.

There was Vega, his face grim. He saluted, and said, “Commander.”

 

 

20


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Shepard**

“Don’t you think I’d rather stay and fight?” Shepard’s face curled in an impatient snarl, inches from James’s. He stared back at her, eyes ablaze, but backed away. Her shoulders stayed up, and her chest constricted. Now was far and away not the time.

“We’re going to the Citadel. You want out, you can catch a ride back from there.” Vega shook his head, waved her off, but didn’t argue any more. Shepard grit her teeth and turned away, biting back some more venomous comments and felt the tension in her shoulders worsen. Still, as Vega stalked away, she caught him through the corner of her eye, looking at her over his shoulder.

Shepard was aware of Kaidan, too, as he watched them, his eyebrows furrowed. Dread filled her at the same time as her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to scream at him for the months of silence, or maybe just pin him against the shuttle and remind them both of the heat they used to share, to tell him to Hell with what happened on Horizon. She wanted to scream, too, about Earth, about the Reapers, about leaving Anderson behind and just -- everything. Instead, Shepard looked down and began punching uselessly at the keyboard display in front of her.

“Commander!” A voice on the intercom, familiar--and an incredibly welcome distraction right now.

“Joker? That you?”

There was a transmission from Admiral Hackett. It was incredibly garbled, but the assignment was still clear. Go to Mars, to the archives, and find Liara and what she was researching there.

James was first to comment, as always erring on the side of flippancy, “This is _loco_.”

“Why Mars?” Kaidan’s voice broke her out of her reverie, and Shepard strode across the room toward the weapons table, her mind snapping to the assignment, blocking out the argument with Vega and the sick somersault her stomach was doing about --about everything. “What does he think we’ll find there?”

“I don’t know, yet.” She picked up her pistol, examined it, “But if it helps us win this war...” She set the gun back down, and picked up her breastplate, frowning at the scars that were still present from her last firefight. A dull voice in the back of her mind registered it as odd that her armor was still on the Normandy at all. “Grab your gear.”

**Vega**

At least getting ready distracted Vega from the anger clouding his thoughts. To leave Earth, _now_? And Shepard--the way she’d looked at him... the way she’d looked at Alenko, her face full of the hurt that only a scorned lover could have. He shook his head and pulled off his boots, focusing on the laces.

The Commander stood in front of her locker, just feet away, pulling her shirt over her head. Vega squinted down at a particularly stubborn loop. He ground his teeth and gave an over exuberant tug, which freed his foot but sending his boot clattering into the lockers. Shepard gave him _that_ look, both eyebrows raised, as she shimmied out of her slacks. Further down the line he saw Alenko, already in his under-armor, smirking. Vega’s free fist tightened.

“Easy, Vega. You break Alliance property, you gotta pay, and I don’t remember leaving you very many credits after our last poker night.” She leaned into her locker, her voice light, as if they hadn’t been close to blows ten minutes ago. For that moment all he could see was the bottom of her undershirt and the curve of her legs. He turned his head away and his neck grew warm, flushed..

“Sorry.” Vega muttered down at his shoes and continued to disrobe, more carefully now. Shoes off, he stood and busied himself with the business of getting out of his civvies and into his under-armor. From the corner of his eye, he watched Shepard pulling hers on, fastening the snaps up her chest-- Vega found himself fumbling with his own, neck now radiating an uncomfortable heat.

“Come here.”

“Huh?”

There was Shepard in nothing but her black under-armor, reaching out to help him with the last of his snaps. He pried his eyes away from the way it clung to her.

“Ophelia, I can handle it.” Beyond them, Alenko’s eyebrows rose, as if surprised.

“You’re taking too long, _Vega._ ” She closed the final snap, eyes narrowed at him, and he felt the pinch of the suit adjusting and the faint whine of the monitoring systems kicking on. Looking past her--anywhere but _at_ her-- Vega saw the thinning line of Alenko’s mouth, and looked away, clearing his throat.

“Uh, thanks. Commander.”

“Let’s get to the armory, I don’t want to keep Liara waiting.” Shepard strode away with more purpose than he’d ever seen her have. He’d known she was a soldier, had seen the way she fought--but her focus at that moment made it clear. This is what she was meant for.

“Think you’ll need help getting in to your armor too, Lieutenant?” Alenko was back to smirking, but there was a tightness around his eyes. Vega frowned, but then smiled back and pushed past the major.

“ _Callate el hocico,_ Major. I’m not gonna say no if the commander wants to get a little hands-on.” To judge by the expression on Shepard’s face, he’d regret that later, but for the moment, Vega was feeling pretty damn good.

**Shepard**

She growled, aimed her pistol at Dr.Eva and pulled the trigger. She thrust out with her free hand, blasting biotics toward the woman. Both bullet and blast hit, but she just kept running. Shepard panted, chasing after her, and radioed for James or Joker again. A double blast of more biotics sailed past her, as Kaidan and Liara caught up to them.

“She’s getting away!” Liara called out in frustration as the Cerberus shuttle made a smooth turn and Dr. Eva made an impressive leap into it.

“Damn it! James! Normandy! _Anybody!_ ” Shepard screamed into her comm unit. The Cerberus shuttle was off and away-- and then with a rumble there was the Kodiak, blitzing through the sky.

Over her comms, she heard James, “I’ve got this one.”

Shepard’s eyes widened in disbelief as James rammed their shuttle into the Cerberus vehicle. Her heart caught, and then she ran backwards as debris rained down around them. Still, James had piloted well-the shuttle turned, still smooth and for the most part unscathed. Shepard moved to help Kaidan up, but he held up an arm to wave her off.

She snarled to herself. Fine, if he still thought she was somehow in on this--she looked skyward, jabbed directions for James to land with her free hand, still breathing heavy.

The shuttle landed with a clatter between Shepard and the others. James bounded out, one hand on his helmet but looking no worse for wear.

“Normandy’s en route. She’ll be here soon.” Shepard shoved him, getting close enough that she hoped he could see her expression through her helmet, livid.

From the other side of the wreck came Liara’s voice. “We need the data.” There was a sudden pounding, and some shots fired. Shepard shook her head at Vega and ran around the Kodiak. Kaidan was being held up by his helmet--by Dr. Eva? How had she survived--

Shepard ran toward them: “Kaidan!” She leveled her pistol at Dr. Eva--no, a robot of some kind. An AI? “Let him go.” Her finger cocked the trigger, but the machine just put a hand to its earpiece and said something into it. There was a pause, and then the robot turned and began slamming him into the ruined Cerberus shuttle.

Her insides turned to ice, and her body froze, “No!” The robot slammed Kaidan into the shuttle a few more times, then dropped him, turned around and charged at Shepard. Everything seemed to happen as if in a dream and her vision blurred--she pulled the trigger, over and over, until the unit fell.

Kaidan didn’t get up, didn’t make a sound; not when she ran to him, not when she turned him over, and not even as she hoisted him over her shoulder with the help of her biotics, and struggled toward the shuttle.

She didn’t recall telling Vega to grab the robot, and had to have Joker repeat the news about Reaper signatures on Mars as James piloted them back to the Normandy. Twice. Silence filled the shuttle, but in her head, she was screaming.

**Kaidan**

Kaidan wasn’t exactly conscious, though he had a dim awareness of the doctors that were coming in and out of the room around him. He focused on the sound of beeping from a machine near him. That sound meant he was still alive. That--that _thing_ on Mars hadn’t done him in.

“Hey, Kaidan.” Her voice was raw. He thought about turning, but just the _thought_ of the effort involved made parts of him ache he wasn’t aware of. Her heard her suck in her breath, “Oh God. It’s hard seeing you like this.” He swallowed, still turned away from her, and kept his eyes shut.

“I don’t know if you can hear me.” She must have thought he was asleep--or worse. He stayed still as she continued, though he couldn’t have said why.

“But since you can’t tell me to get the hell out, either, I’m gonna take my chances.” He heard her move closer to the bed, and she put her hands on his arm. Her skin was as smooth as he remembered, and the touch sent a ripple of memory through him. Kaidan continued to lie still and felt the pang of a different kind of pain. It was much worse.

“ _Don’t die, Kaidan_. You’ve got to fight,” her voice trembled, “We need you in this.” There was a long pause, the silence punctuated by beeping machinery.

“Seeing you in action again...it reminded me that you’re a hell of a soldier. The Alliance could sure use you.” Her hand tightened on his arm, and he felt that she was shaking. “I... could use you.” Her hand let go of him, and he reconsidered--if he could have just turned his head. The pain medication coursing through him dulled his reaction time, and his heart was beating too hard.

“You need anything Doc, let me know.” The part of his brain responsible for making decisions didn’t want to talk to her in front of the doctors, maybe didn’t even want to talk to her yet, though he winced at his cowardice. He was being petty, he knew. It wasn’t her fault he had been attacked. He _knew_ that--but he didn’t move.

“Come on, Kaidan. Fight.” Kaidan reasoned that he could make it up to her--when he was well. He could apologize. He heard her footsteps retreat, and then stop, “And that’s an order.”

**Shepard**

The _Normandy_ seemed so empty without Kaidan. It was ridiculous, she knew--he’d been on the SR-2 for maybe three hours while conscious. But the spaces seemed devoid of him. She had tried to relax in her cabin, but whenever she closed her eyes, his bruised face and body loomed before her. If it wasn’t his body laying in the hospital, it was the distrust in his eyes on Mars, on Horizon. Worse--she couldn’t even erase the look he had given her when she ordered him off the Normandy SR-1.

So, as she so often did, Shepard had taken to pacing. Her cabin was too empty--she remembered it being warmer, full of her _things_ , full of her friends. Well, she could call up Liara--or James. She shook her head a few times and the pit of her stomach went sour. Neither of them would have provided too much comfort in that moment--just a hell of a lot of guilt.

Shepard stalked from the room and onto the elevator. Her armor had still been on the ship--maybe something else of hers was still around as well.

The effort to stand upright in the elevator seemed briefly overwhelming, and she sagged against one corner and rose all the way to the bottom. Still, when the doors slid open, she straightened her posture and strode into the Shuttle Bay, her face set.

“Hello Commander,” came the voice of Lieutenant Cortez, from the direction of the shuttle. She’d spoken with him before, albeit briefly, but now she merely afforded him a nod and headed toward a stack of storage boxes marked ‘Confiscated’.

Shepard opened a box and was rustling through the contents (an array of gadgets that could only have belonged to Garrus) when she noticed a soft, steady grunting from her left. Puzzled, she circled the boxes--and there was Vega, doing pull-ups.

Shepard bit the inside of her lip. She contemplated turning around just leaving--but found herself watching the minute thrust of his hips, the tense and release of his arms as he pulled himself upward.

“Hey, Commander.” It was too late too leave now, she supposed. Her head bobbed up and down, tracking his movements and she forced herself to watch his face, “How’d it go with the Council?”

“The same as usual. Non-committal.” Her voice grew wry as she remembered the meeting. “Unhelpful.”

He looked ahead, “Bet they still wanted you to help them out, no?”

She crossed her arms, “Yep. We’re going to rescue a turian primarch from Palavan.”

He grunted again, not breaking his stride, “Sounds like fun. Never been to the turian homeworld.” Vega’s face stayed steady, but there was a note in his voice that Shepard had a hard time reading. “You come down here for something,” another grunt, “or you just lookin’?”

She smiled but turned away, “I did just come to chat.” She let her voice drop. “But I might just stay for the show.”

He paused, and when he spoke, his voice was almost sullen, “Have to work harder than that if you want me to blush.” Another pause, and then, “Not sure what there is to talk about.”

Shepard held her tongue as a frown threatened to settle in. James continued, “You already know my service record.”

That gave her pause, “I don’t, actually. I didn’t have access to personnel records when we met.” They’d talked, of course, but she didn’t have to think too hard to realize it had mostly been about her. The frown blossomed and grew.

“Right... forgot about that. Well--” Vega finally dropped, and cracked his neck audibly, then his knuckles. The petulance dropped from his voice, though he kept his back turned to her. “Think you can dance and talk at the same time?”

She smiled, and a short laugh infiltrated her reply: “Oh, I can dance.” Shepard moved out into the open space of the bay, body buzzing with anticipation. Sparring might do them both a lot of good--it would certainly take her mind off things, if only for a few moments.

“Okay Lola,” Vega swaggered toward her, raising his fists, “Let’s do this.”

“Don’t let my good looks fool you Vega. I’ve got my share of scars.” She started with a left-hook, which he blocked with a laugh. Their conversation was strained, as if they were both trying to forget the last time they did this.

“You remind me of my old C.O.” He returned the gesture, but blocking was easy--a little too easy. Well, fine, if that’s the dance he wanted-- she aimed for his head, but he ducked back.

“Oh yeah?” Another swipe, another block, “and who was that?”

He paused, not even bouncing on his feet. She thought about clocking him one right then, to get him while he was wide open. It was too easy--she let it pass.

“Captain Toni. He was a hard-ass son of a bitch, but he was a good leader.” He darted forward, the punches quick, but light.

Shepard’s voice dropped into an unhappy pitch, “Was?”

“Died,” Vega’s eyebrows came down, “with most of my squad.” They circled each other again, fists up, but neither made an attempt toward the other. “Protecting a civilian colony from a Collector attack.” His eyes narrowed at her.

Shepard’s own eyes widened, and Vega aimed straight her for face. She ducked, but only just, and slipped backward, “And the colony?”

He pressed the attack, aggression in every line of his body. Shepard danced back, not sure if she should just drop out. But better for him to get his anger out like this.

He grunted, “It was either them--” there were a few more narrow misses “--or the intel we had on the Collectors--intel we could have used to destroy them.” Vega’s volume rose, almost shouting at her, venom dripping from every word.

“I chose the intel.” He landed a punch to her left cheek.

She winced, not entirely from the physical pain, though he had set her jaw rattling. Her eyes narrowed, and she pushed back at him, and aimed for his upper arms, “Tough choice. But it was the right call.”

Vega stopped, his fists dropped and his face caught somewhere between rage and a smile, as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said, “You think so?”

Blood trickled from her nostril, hot against her face, “I would have done the same.”

A short, mean laugh escaped his lips, “That’s what’s funny. You were doing the same thing.” He circled away from her again, but didn’t try another punch. Their eyes were locked. “You took out the Collectors. We never needed the intel.” He was breathing heavy as he resumed his assault.

She put up her arms for protection--whether from the blows or the implications, she didn’t know. “You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself Vega.” _And you can’t blame me._

His face was defiant, and he pressed on, relentless. “Who says I’m blaming myself?”

She shook her head between blocks, “Just a guess.”

“You a shrink, too?”

“No,” she felt anger boil up from somewhere deep, “but that stunt back on Mars was reckless. You’re lucky to be alive.” It was a wonder she could still see him, her eyes went so narrow, and she overtook him. He had to retreat a few steps, but the anger didn’t ease from his face. From either of their faces.

“So?”

“So...” Shepard’s voice was strained, and she let a too-wild punch fly, “maybe _you_ don’t care if you live or die.”

“Or maybe,” he feinted forward, “I’m just willing to do whatever the _fuck_ it takes to end this God-damn--”

Shepard ducked in, grabbed him around the middle, and flipped him over her shoulder. The last part of his sentence was knocked out of him. She stood over him, shoulders heaving with exertion and emotion.

“Maybe you are.” He struggled to his feet, “But if you’re _half_ as good as I think you are, we need you _alive._ ” Shepard needed him alive--but there were only so many men she could say that to in one damned day.

Vega stalked away, then slowed, and turned toward her, “Thanks for the pep talk.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart-rate. “Anytime.”

He face softened as she watched. “Hey.” Vega appeared to chew on some words, but only added, “Thanks for the dance, Lola.”

Despite how badly she still wanted to deck him--Shepard wiped the blood from her nose and laughed. “Lola, huh?”

Vega shrugged, “You kind of look like a Lola.” There was an apology woven into every word, and her frown returned in full force. Still, she could hear that Cortez was tinkering away in the corner. It was not the time to push anything.

Shepard forced herself to smile, “You’re cute... so I’ll let you get away with it.” Her eyebrows dropped, “For now.”

He smiled back--a tense smile, and he turned away before she could read more of his expression. “That’s it. Now you made me blush.”

Shepard turned on her heel and stalked to the elevator, not feeling particularly relaxed.

**Liara**

There was a knock at her door.

“Commander Shepard is requesting access, Shadow Broker.” Glyph’s voice chirped at her, and she resisted the urge to tell it for the millionth time not to call her that.

“Please, as always, allow her in.” The doors slid up, and Shepard stepped through, shaking her head, even as Glyph chirruped a hello to her.

“Still got me on lock-down, Liara?” The commander’s lips broke in a smile, and Liara turned away from her work.

“You know it isn’t like that. What brings you down?” Through the corner of her eye, Liara watched a chart blip, and smiled herself.

“Just thought I’d visit. I could use some downtime away from--”

“Yes, away from it all. I understand. Please, make yourself comfortable. I prefer to work standing up, but there should be--ah, yes!” Liara moved around a console and tugged out a set of folding chairs. She shot the commander an apologetic smile. “They’re not very comfortable, but--”

“They’re fine. Thanks.” Shepard reached out to take one of them; she unfolded it and took a seat in a single swift motion.

Liara turned her head toward the monitors again. She must have been studying it for longer than she realized, because the commander’s voice startled her. “If you’re busy, I can go.”

“No, please. We don’t get enough moments like this. Just the two of us.” Liara tried to force the sadness out of her smile, but it was true. Shepard shook her head,

“It’s a shame, Liara. But we’re both so--” Shepard cleared her throat, and Liara wrenched her gaze away from the monitors. “--busy.” This elicited a laugh from them both.

“I’m sorry, Shepard. It’s harder than I thought just letting things be.” Shepard’s face clouded, and Liara reached over to place a hand on her knee. “How are you, Shepard?”

“Ah--- you know me, I’m fine.”

“No, really.”

“I’ve been better. Ever since Mars--no, before that. Things have been strange, and now I have to get the whole damn galaxy to agree to work together.”

Liara felt her lips quirk into a sarcastic smile--an expression she’d picked up from the commander herself. “We’ve got the turians now-- still, it was almost easier when we were saving it by ourselves, wasn’t it?”

The commander nodded, her expression rueful, “It was a hell of a lot easier.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Liara chewed her bottom lip and mulled over whether or not to ask the obvious. She did. “That’s not all, is it?”

“Not by a long shot.” Shepard’s eyebrows came together, and she met Liara’s gaze, “I feel like I was given a real chance to start over, but I’m stuck playing the same old song.”

“You’re talking about Kaidan.”

“...Yeah. I’m sorry--”

“It’s fine, Shepard. You can talk to me about anything.” Even if her heart gave the occasional lurch of protest, Liara knew the bulk of those unexplored emotions were long behind her. It had taken the better part of two years and an information empire to do it, but they were buried. Mostly.

“It’s just-- seeing him lying there, not knowing if he’d pull through. I started to understand what I put him through. What I put all of you through.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Shepard!” Liara’s voice had more force than she’d intended. She straightened, removing her hand from Shepard’s knee.

“I know that--I mean, I _think_ I know that. But then I get this sick feeling, like I did everything wrong.”

“Working with Cerberus was the only way to stop the Collectors. It was--- it was the only way to save you.” She heard her voice getting small, and her throat constricted. Liara shook her head. No, she wasn’t going to give herself over to a dead grief.

Shepard looked at her for a long moment, and then looked down at her hands.

“Thank you, Liara.”

“For what, Shepard?”

“You mean besides saving me?” That old familiar grin returned, and Liara felt herself relax, “For being here, on the Normandy again. And for those words. Sometimes-- sometimes we all make deals with the devil.”

“If I understand the metaphor, then it’s simply a matter of paying the price later--or defeating the devil, correct?”

“Oh, I will. I will grind the devil to dust.” Shepard smiled at her in a wholly new way. “Anyway, Liara. I got an email from Alliance Command. Cerberus has uncovered a Prothean artifact on Eden Prime. I’ve already had Joker set a course -- and I want you down there when we take it back.”

Liara’s smile was so wide that her cheeks hurt, “Of course, Shepard. And thank _you._ ”

**Shepard**

“Shepard, are you distressed in my presence?”

“What’s that?” Shepard turned her head toward EDI, still breathing heavy from the firefight they just finished. Behind them, Liara was examining the stasis pod.

“II took you five seconds longer to dispatch each enemy combatant than your historical average, and your heart-rate continues to fluctuate when I’m near you.” The robot’s face-- _EDI’s_ face approximated concern. Shepard looked away with a sigh. Seeing that body walking around on the Normandy had been hard enough--but here on Eden Prime, with the memories of that first mission swimming in her mind--it was damn near impossible.

Still, EDI had been a valuable asset on the mission, just as Shepard expected her to be. The AI’s inside knowledge of Cerberus troops and the data she was able to glean from their newer equipment had saved their asses more than once.

“I’m sorry, EDI. I’m still adjusting.” She didn’t offer more explanation right now; they needed to open that pod. Shepard turned and lit up her omni-tool, transmitting the last bit of information they’d need. A panel popped open and she found herself pressing buttons--it was intuitive, the memory of the process still fresh in her mind.

The pod opened with a hiss, and steam rose from the body within. A prothean--the one she’d seen from the transmissions-- lay within.

“There, you’ve got it.” Liara’s voice was equal parts excitement and trepidation. Shepard tried to imagine what was going through the asari’s mind and couldn’t, quite. “Goddess.”

Liara turned her head toward Shepard with what looked like some effort. “It might take him some time to fully regain consciousness.” They all watched as the prothean’s four golden eyes blinked open out of sync. His expression was hard for Shepard to read--she couldn’t imagine what the others, without her imprinted knowledge of protheans, saw.

He lurched upright and threw them back with a biotic charge, growling. From the ground, Shepard watched him stumble from the stasis pod and fall to his knees. They all got up and he ran from them, stumbling again.

“Be careful! He’s confused.” Of course Liara’s first instinct was to worry--Shepard had been preparing her own biotics, in case he continued to be hostile. She forced herself to relax as the Prothean stopped short and gaped at Eden Prime. It was a much-changed landscape, she knew.

**Kaidan**

“Udina.” Shepard shouldered past the Councilor on his way into the room; she was holding something, but Kaidan couldn’t tell what it was from the bed. Kaidan turned his head, and tried to sit up.

“Hey.” Her voice was light, but she stopped short of the bed.

“Hey, Shepard. Y-you just missed snack time.” He heard the weakness in his voice and tried to force a smile, but even that still hurt. “Actually, that’s probably a good thing.” Kaidan leaned back against the bed, but kept his head turned toward her. Shepard looked happy enough--until he saw her eyes. There was definitely fear in them, and her whole body was taut, nervous.

Kaidan couldn’t tell for certain, but she looked like she was holding back from rushing across the room to him. Maybe she was thinking of leaving. Could he blame her if she wasn’t up for a one-on-one conversation? He had started and erased no less than three messages before sending her an invitation. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem.” Shepard was looking around, pacing, and passed whatever it was she had-a bottle, as it turned out-- from hand to hand. He watched her with a steady gaze, but his stomach felt sour with regret, watching her be so uneasy around him. What would it take to fix this?

“What did Udina want? Still thinking about the Spectre position?” She finally approached the bed, and perched on a chair near him, though she still looked for all the world like she hadn’t quite decided whether or not to flee.

“Well it’s a big honor,” he’d barely wrapped his head around it, honestly, “and a huge responsibility. Just need to be sure.” She smiled, but it didn’t erase the uncertainty in her eyes.

“Of course. You wouldn’t want to have to make a snap decision in front of the Council. That’s not really _your_ style.”

He laughed, which turned into a cough, and then a wince. As he opened his eyes, Shepard’s face morphed from concern back to the reassuring half-smile. Her free hand was outstretched--and she dropped it, her fingers clenching.

“Kaidan I--”

“It’s okay, Shepard. I’m okay. You got me here, I’ll be fine. I’ll--I’ll be more than fine, I think.” He started to reach out to her, but her eyes were full of confusion and concern, despite the casual slope of her shoulders. Maybe now wasn’t the time.

“Well, you look like hell, Lieuten-- Major.” Shepard looked down at the bottle in her hands, then raised it to him.

“I got you this.” He leaned forward, suppressing another wince, and their fingers brushed as he took it from her. The guilt in his gut twisted like a knife.

“Wow, thanks Shepard.” The bottle was opaque, almost dusty in texture. It was whiskey -- genuine Earth brewed, according to the otherwise spartan label, “That’s really great.”

“Just a little pick-me-up.” Behind the warmth in her voice there was obvious strain, and her smile faltered completely, watching him as though she was afraid he’d reject it. That he’d reject her.

“Maybe when I’m out we can crack it open and celebrate?”

Her smile lit up the whole room.

**Shepard**

Everything hurt. She hit the releases on her armor, letting it fall where it would in the locker room. Shepard’s eyes closed. The next thing she remembered, she was waking from a nightmare. Bits and pieces of the previous day came floating back. Garrus telling her to get shut eye. Wrex’s ecstatic face--Mordin’s final words.

She lumbered to the bathroom and splashed her face in the sink. Even when something went right, it was wrong.

She heard the door to her cabin slide open.

“Shepard?” It was Liara. “There’s something you need to hear.”

“All right.” Shepard stared at her reflection--haggard was the only word for it. Her eyes were sunken, her hair limp. When Shepard didn’t emerge from the bathroom, she heard Liara’s voice take on a note of concern.

“Is this a bad time?” When wasn’t it a bad time? She hesitated, then replied:

“Thinking of some friends who aren’t around thanks to this war.”

“That’s thanks to the Reapers, not you. Are you thinking about anyone in particular?”

Shepard shook her head at herself. “Ashley. Back on Virmire. She gave her life stopping Sovereign. I wonder what she’d make of fighting a whole fleet of Reapers.”

“If I had to guess, Ashley would call it target practice.”

Shepard saw her reflection smile, “Yeah. Sounds like her.” She left the bathroom, and found Liara leaning against the wall just outside.

“Didn’t you have something for me?”

“The salarian councilor has an urgent matter.” Liara clasped her hands behind her back.

“Let me guess. He called the comm room?” Shepard crossed her arms and winced.

“The Council must be taking the Crucible seriously. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Shepard took one look at the blinking light of her personal terminal and headed for the elevator.

* * *

The talk with the salarian councilor had been brief, and had done nothing to improve her mood. One request to Joker to get them to the Citadel, a relay jump, and several hours later Shepard was still frowning. What was taking so long?

She strode to the front of the ship, and found Joker asking if they were cleared to descend.

He looked at her, shrugged, and leaned on one elbow.

“Alliance control, this is Normandy, we’re headed to Bay 1-4, Zakera Ward. Are we cleared to descend?”

There was no response, and he sighed.

“What the hell’s going on down there? Even if there were a station malfunction, they’d have backups online. I’ve got a bad feeling here. Checking emergency channels.”

13


	4. Chapter 4

**  
****Shepard**

“Morning, Shepard.” Kaidan’s voice was husky and warm as he sidled into her cabin. In his hands were two steaming mugs--the smell of coffee hit Shepard, strong and heady. She smiled and stepped aside to beckon him in.

“Hey Kaidan. What’s up?” Though she could feel the fatigue in her bones, she suppressed a yawn.

“Nothing. I just figured,” he held out one of the mugs to her, “that you might need a little pick-me-up. I noticed you replied to my message pretty late last night. Or rather, early this morning. You still take your coffee black?”

“Mmm, yes. Thank you.” Shepard took the proffered mug with both and padded over to her couch. Kaidan’s footsteps followed her, and he perched on the other end of the sofa.

Steam drifted across the surface of her coffee, and Shepard blew it in Kaidan’s direction,. “So you wanted to talk?” She studied his face, trying to get a read on how he was feeling. Kaidan looked pleased, but far from relaxed, to judge by how upright he was sitting, and the tight curl of his fingers around the coffee mug

“No, not yet. Next time we’re on the Citadel, Shepard. They’ve started to rebuild and I thought-- maybe lunch?” A shy smile colored his features, “For now, let’s just enjoy our coffee.”

She smiled at him across her mug before taking a long sip, and his own smile broadened.

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Vega**

“Fuck!” Vega blew air out, trying to sit as still as possible. The batarian behind him muttered something, and then laughed. Vega focused on a point in front of him, trying to ignore the needle in his backside. It wasn’t as bad as his neck had been, but it still hurt.

The light in front of him shifted, and he looked up.

“James?” Shepard looked down at him, her head tilted, mouth open in a half smile. She was in her dress blues, but even in the dim light, he could see the shine of lipgloss and the hint of color around her eyes. There was a smile that played across her lips, subtle but present.

“Commander! What brings you down here?” He clenched his fingers, but smiled at her through gritted teeth.

“I was about to ask you that.” She looked over his shoulder with a small frown-- he assumed it was aimed at the batarian currently injecting his backside with ink.

“Well, after our little chat -- ow! I made up my mind. I’m gonna join the N7 program.”

“And you’re celebrating by getting a tattoo?” The skepticism in her voice was palpable, but he just laughed.

“Sort of. See, there’s no official channels to go through right now. So, I guess this is my way of making it official.”

Shepard shifted, placing one hand on her hip. The light gleaned off her nails. Nailpolish and lipstick to visit the docks? He quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t ask. The answer was probably Alenko. He wondered if the smile had been for Alenko, too.

Vega pushed the thought from his mind and tried to ignore the disappointment flooding his belly. “Technically I’m just an N7 recruit... but you know, I figure with you as my training officer, how could I fail? Right?” He threw her a cocky grin, and she raised her eyebrows in response.

“I’m flattered, but I wouldn’t exactly say I’m training you.”

“Not officially, but what the hell is in this goddamn war? I’m just saying, whether you like it or not, you’re my direct superior, and you’re N7.” Her hand dropped from her hip, and he looked her over. Vega let his gaze linger. “So I take my lead from you. And you know, I’ll take whatever advice you’ve got.”

She shook her head, her lips twitching in a badly concealed smile. This one was for him, at least. “Really?”

“Sure.” He grunted in pain. “The _good_ advice.”

“Well, they wouldn’t ask you if they didn’t think you could handle it.”

“Here’s hoping.” He meant that. Getting a tattoo removed was ten thousand times worse than getting it in the first place. She let the grin unfold, “But the _real_ work starts now.”

“Uh-huh.” She smirked, but Vega’s voice went serious, “I know it seems like I don’t take things seriously, but when I commit to something...” he locked eyes with her, “I _fully_ commit.” The statement hung between them for a moment, and he knew it had hit home.

“Clearly.” Shepard’s own voice was slightly strained, and Vega’s expression softened.

“Hey, I won’t let you down.”

“The only person you need to prove yourself to is the one standing in the mirror every morning.”

Vega sucked in, wincing. “Good point.”

She changed tack, “You know, that’s gonna sting for a few days. You gonna be ready for duty?”

“Always.” He smiled again, what he hoped was a roguish grin, “Hey, maybe we should get matching.”

“You want _me_ to get an N7 tattoo?” Amusement flooded her voice. He decided to push it.

“N7... sure. Or, you could get my name done... somewhere special.”

“You are such a tease, Vega.” Shepard’s hips swiveled as she shifted, relaxing.

“Who, me?”

“You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?” Her smile was _definitely_ roguish. His mouth fell open, and he sputtered, his neck growing hot. Damnit.

“Uh... I didn’t mean to, you know... I was just--”

“That’s what I thought.” She hovered, regarding him with a look he could only register as complicated. Then she started undoing the clasps on her overshirt. He sputtered some more, averting his eyes.

“Relax, Lieutenant. I’m just gonna take you up on your offer. “ Her overshirt was off, and she settled onto a chair nearby to relax.

“What--my name?”

That prompted an eyeroll.

  
  


**Kaidan**

He tried to watch her sleep, but she made it so damn difficult. For one thing, Shepard got up constantly--for water, blankets, to turn off a light, turn it back on, feed the fish, open the overhead shutters, then to close them again. At least she hadn’t picked up another damn datapad that night. There was no hope for sleep after that.

Normally Kaidan just couldn’t stay awake through all of this, at least not in Shepard’s bed. Her _scent_ wason everything, and that would relax him enough to sleep, even without the expensive sheets she’d manage to “requisition”. He put his arms around her, and she murmured a half-hearted sleepy protest, more to the pillow than to him. Kaidan felt himself smile in response.

Shepard shifted, and he kissed her arms, “It’s all right, Shepard, just go to sleep. Whatever it is can wait.”

She mumbled something about checking in with Tali and seeing if she had messages.

“If it’s urgent, we’ll get paged. We’re not at Rannoch yet.” She started to roll away, but he held her tighter. “C’mon, give yourself--give us these thirty seconds without a war on.”

“But there _is_ a war on,” her voice was less tired now, and he saw her green eyes trained on him with the start of annoyance behind them. With a sigh, Kaidan let her go and rolled over on his back.

“You’re right, of course.” He watched her rise, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“It’s all right Kaidan. I just need to check this--it’s all very delicate right now with the quarians, you _know_ that.”

“I do. Just--just don’t stay up too late, Shepard.” She kissed him, soft and fast, and he was asleep before she’d reached her desk.

**Vega**

“Shit, major,” Vega paused to take a quick swig of his drink., “You are _really_ bad at poker. Raise you five.”

Alenko chuckled softly, shaking his head, “I guess so. We were more of a gin rummy family. I’ll see your five and raise you five more.” He clanked two ceramic disks on the center of the table, “I never really learned how to bluff.”

“Careful with those, Major, they’re--”

“I know, I know, vintage.”

“Yeah, they are. Cost me an unfair number of creds, _and_ I had to haggle with a hanar. Creepy things, all tentacles and the way they glow--no thanks.” He shuddered, “Anyway, you sure about that?” Vega grinned across the table, watching Alenko’s eyes. The major looked back at him, mirth turning to confusion.

“What, you think I’m bluffing now?”

“No, I think you’re shit at this game.” A pause, “Sir. But those are twenties, not fives.”

“Oh.” Alenko rubbed the back of his neck with his spare hand, “Well, see your five, raise you, ah, thirty-five then.”

“They’re you’re credits, Major.” He smirked again at the other man and slouched down in his chair. “For now.”

“Shut up and play the last card, Lieutenant.”

Vega burned a card and flipped over the last. He took another look at his hand. “Your bet, Alenko.”

“All in.”

Vega raised his eyebrows, “You sure?”

“Yes, for Christ’s sake.” Alenko slid the rest of his chips forward with care, his own eyebrows raised in a pointed look.

“Okay. What’ve you got?” Vega caught Shepard’s approach from the corner of his eye. Alenko must not have noticed, because he was still in the middle of a cocksure grin, not distracted by the commander’s presence. For once.

“Got the flush.”

Vega clucked appreciatively, then laid his cards down, “Full house,” Alenko’s face dropped as Vega leaned forward to collect the chips, “Caught it on the river.”

“Shit.” Kaidan’s head turned toward the commander. He shot her a quick, sly grin. Vega shifted in his chair.

“Thought you were bluffin’ on the flush. Good for you.” That wiped the grin off his face.

“Can it, Lieutenant.”

Vega laughed, “Yes sir, _Major Alenko_ , sir.” He swiveled in his chair toward Shepard. “Hey Commander.”

Shepard regarded them for a moment, her hands drifting to her hips.

“Didn’t do so well, Kaidan?” She was all smiles at the major, eyes twinkling mischievously. Vega was taken with an urge to jump over the table and pin her to the wall with his hips. Instead, he frowned and scooped up the cards to shuffle.

Alenko ran his hands through his hair, “Shepard,” a soft sigh, “I’d deal you in, but Vega just cleaned me out.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, _hombre_. Tell you what. I’ll give you,” he looked down at the chips, “Half of what you lost back, we’ll deal the commander in.” Vega looked up at her again, hands still busy with the cards, “What do you say, Lola?”

Her mouth twitched in a smile, but her eyes flashed a brief warning. He held her gaze steady. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Alenko frown.

Shepard swiveled the chair at the end of the table around and sat in it backwards, “All right, Lieutenant,” Damn it, back to Lieutenant? “what’s the buy in?”

“I don’t know, Commander, I don’t think this is such a good idea.” Vega looked over as Alenko spoke; he was shaking his head and rubbing the inside of his right ring finger.

“It’ll do me good, Kaidan.” Shepard broke eye contact with Vega to look at Kaidan. Her smile warmed, all the way up to her eyes, and the corners crinkled in a way that made him ache. Vega watched a stray curl loosen behind her ear as she turned her head toward the major. He cut the deck.

“It’ll do us all good,” she continued, “C’mon, what are we drinking?” Kaidan suddenly relaxed, and his body shifted toward Shepard’s.

“ _We_ aren’t drinking anything. The lieutenant has--well, I swear it’s paint thinner.”

“It’s called tequila, Major, and not that synthetic stuff you’ll get on the Citadel. This is the genuine article, rare and expensive as hell.”

“Good thing you’re buying then, isn’t it, Vega?” Shepard was looking at him again, but her arm had disappeared under the table, as had Kaidan’s.

“Yeah,” his voice sounded flat, “Good thing.”

  
  


**Shepard**

Forty-five minutes and half a bottle later, and all the tension had melted from her body. Shepard had managed to win five consecutive hands without bluffing. Well, without bluffing too much. It helped that her opponents were just as sloshed as she was -- Vega was even more so.

The lieutenant hadn’t stopped watching her since she entered the room. He’d seemed surly at first, but after she’d enticed Kaidan to start drinking the tequila with them things had lightened up. He kept catching her eye, though, wiggling his eyebrows when he must have thought Kaidan wasn’t looking. Which wasn’t too often, truth be told.

She just knew she’d hear about that later, but for now Kaidan was taking it in stride quite admirably.

Right this instance, the two men were watching her, all grins and flushed faces. Hers felt pretty hot as well, at least partially from the booze.

“What?”

“You totally took down a Reaper,” the pride oozed out of Kaidan, and it was infectious.

“Yep. Sure did.” She leaned back in her chair, hands going up behind her head.

“You did,” Vega tilted his head back, exposing the underside of his chin. A breath caught in her throat, but she dropped her arms and rolled her shoulder back, trying to be casual.

“Hell yeah.” Kaidan dealt a hand, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table, to swipe up her cards, “Just a few more and we’re done.” He paused. “Same could be said for the bottle,” Kaidan raised one of those gloriously thick eyebrows at it, though he had to blink a few times to focus. She held back a laugh.

“We’re going to kill it if we keep it up,” she glanced at her cards, laid them down, and pulled the bottle toward her to pour another drink. Vega smirked. “Don’t worry, Vega, I’ll buy you another.”

“Yeah, with _my_ money.”

“And mine.” Kaidan rubbed his chin, casting his cards a surly glance.

She shrugged at them, grinning ear to ear, “You’re the ones who wanted to deal me in.”

“You gonna bring that up?” Vega took another swig of his drink, and licked the remnants off his lips. She did the same, then smirked at him.

“Of course. Just thought I’d take the opportunity to remind you how short-sighted you are.”

“More like short changed,” Kaidan laid down his cards, “I’ll check.”

“Mmm.. me too.”

“C’mon boys! How about ten to start?”

“Ten? Commander, you’re completely _loco_.” Shepard laughed at Vega as Kaidan added two fives to the pile with a look of reluctance on his face.

“Probably. But maybe I’ve got a pair of aces. You won’t know unless you play.” She tilted her head to the side and brushed a curl off her neck. It would be time for another hair cut soon.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Vega saw her bet as well, his chips rattling as he slapped them down. Kaidan dealt out three cards on the table for the flop.

Shepard felt her eye twitching minutely, but said, “Five more,” and flashed them her best smile.

**Vega**

She’d left him a few credits and a few fingers of tequila, when all was said and done. Alenko pushed away from the table as Vega carefully stacked the chips into their leather case.

“Right. I think I’ll turn in...” the major’s voice trailed off in a question, almost certainly directed at the commander.

“A good idea. I don’t think any of us will be feeling too hot in the morning.” Shepard stood as well, stretching her arms up over her head. “Oof. I’m beat.” She paused, cracked her neck, and shot a look over her shoulder that Vega couldn’t read. Whatever it was, Alenko smiled at her in a way that sent all kinds of knots to twisting their way through Vega’s stomach.

Alenko nodded to him and shuffled toward the door, putting up one hand to steady himself. Lightweight. Vega shook his head, frowning. Kaidan was a good guy, all told. That didn’t really comfort him right now, of course.

As the door slid shut, Vega stood. “Commander.”

“Vega?”

“Can I--” he moved forward, and she rocked on her feet before him. His head was swimming. “No, nevermind.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Shepard stopped rocking, and Vega found he couldn’t quite meet her gaze.

“It’s nothing. Just forget it.” He gathered the bottle and the leather case, and moved past her. As he did, she reached out and brushed his arm.

The chips rattled as they hit the ground, and he clung to the commander, pulling her into his chest.

“James.” Her voice was layered, equal parts warning, drunk, soft, and maybe--though maybe he just wanted to hear it--longing. He didn’t respond, just held her awkwardly, the bottle of tequila still clutched in one hand. He breathed, deep and heavy against her and felt the stiffness in her posture. She was like a frightened animal that couldn’t decide between fight or flight.

He let her go with a sigh, his head aching with booze and the pressure of his eyebrows coming down around his eyes, shook his head, and left.

* * *

 

“Just talk to her about it.” Cortez called across the docking bay.

“What,” Vega was in the middle of push-ups, “are you talking about, Esteban?”

The mechanic’s head popped out from around a corner.

“Nobody with your arms needs to do push-ups for two hours. Besides, you’ve been muttering to yourself for a solid week about not going on any missions. Well, we’re about to raid the Cerberus base, Vega. Now or never.”

Vega pushed himself to his feet, glowering.

“All right, all right. You’re right.” He stalked across the bay and jabbed his fingers at the elevator controls.

The elevator ride was infuriatingly slow, made worse by the fact that it seemed to stop on every floor. James kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, and kept replies to any attempted small talk curt at best. Finally, he got to the commander’s cabin. He pushed through, then stood outside her door.

And he stood some more. At least ten minutes passed before he poked at the comms, “Commander?”

There was no response. He jabbed at it again, “C’mon Commander, I know you’re in there.”

“Do you now?” Her voice came from behind him, and her tone was dry. “What is it James? I was hoping to get some work done before tomorrow’s mission.”

“Yeah, about that.” Shepard opened her door and gestured him inside. “It’s been weeks since you sent me out on a mission.”

She sighed, paused on the steps to the living area of her cabin, and turned toward him, “That’s not true, I sent you with Javik and Tali just last week to retrieve those Volus.”

He frowned, “All right. It’s been weeks since _you_ took me out on a mission.”

Her face fell, and she looked away. “So?”

“So? C’mon, Lola. You’ve been avoiding me. On missions, on shore leave-- on the ship.” He schooled his voice, and tried to keep it steady, but the notes of hurt and anger infiltrated it anyway.

Shepard set down her datapad, her mouth twisting.

“I didn’t want a repeat of--”

“Of what?”

“You know what, Vega. I can’t do this.”

“I can’t take this, Sh--Ophelia. Whenever I see you, I--”

“Don’t.” Now she looked him, dead in the eye. He held her gaze until she looked away again. “James, you’re a good friend--”

“Oh bull _shit_ , Ophelia. We had something going, don’t do that to me.” He shook his head, his expression going dark, his volume raising.

“I’m _with_ Kaidan. I **love** Kaidan.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t need this from you right now.”

“Neither do I, Lola.” Vega turned on his boot heel and strode from the room.

**Shepard**

She went to the battery first, hoping to catch Garrus--but Tali was there, so Shepard excused herself as soon as she could. She didn’t need her mood infecting those two, not at this point.

It took a few laps around the mess hall, but Shepard ended up in front of Liara’s door. She called through, soft, “Liara? Can I come in?”

The door slid open.

“Always--Shepard?” As usual, the asari knew her mood without asking.

Shepard stomped into the room and threw herself on Liara’s bed, face first.

“What the hell was I thinking?”

“That we’re going to take the Illusive Man down, once and for all? Shepard, you can do this.” Liara hovered near the edge of her bed, and Shepard rolled onto her back.

“That’s not it. That should be it. I should be focused. This is it. But--”

“Is it James?” Liara settled onto the bed next to her as Shepard’s eyes widened.

“How did you--”

“Shepard, I’m the Shadow Broker.” She smiled down at Shepard, fond. “But I didn’t have to spy on you. It’s obvious. You two have been circling each other like--what’s that human expression?”

“Infatuated teenagers?” Shepard pulled a pillow over her face, and groaned as Liara laughed.

“I think that’s a universal expression. But it will do. Yes.” The asari’s voice went stern, and for once, Shepard was keenly aware of how much _older_ Liara was. “I don’t doubt your devotion to Kaidan, but your behavior toward James has been... more than friendly.”

Shepard groaned again but didn’t reply.

“Listen. You just need to let him down gently.”

“It’s... a little too late for that.”

“I see. Shepard, sit up, come here.” She did so, and Liara wrapped an arm around her.

“When I first met you, we--”

“We flirted shamelessly?”

Liara smiled. “Yes. I was interested in you, and you were interested in me. When you chose Kaidan, I was... hurt.”

“Oh, Liara I--”

“Never mind, Shepard. I was hurt, but now, when I see you two together, it gives me comfort. You’re both my dear friends, and to see how happy you make each other gives me hope for myself.”

Shepard’s eyebrows furrowed, but she remained silent.

“What I’m saying, Shepard, is that even though I was wounded, I recovered, and I moved on. Asari can... do that. Especially asari who fall for shorter-lived species. I’m not sure if it will be different for a young male human, but I believe it will be okay. For both of you.”

Shepard leaned her head against Liara’s shoulder, quiet.

**Shepard**

The skies were grey and dark. Despite the fires that had sparked up here and there, and despite the controls in her suit, Shepard shivered. London was cold and lonely.

She moved through the streets, and felt her stomach churn. For the millionth time, she checked her omni-tool. No messages.

A flash of blue caught her eye near one of the buildings.

“Kaidan.” The word came out a whisper and was swallowed by the wind. Shepard sped up, nearing a run.

“Hey Kaidan.” He turned toward her and his face lit up. Still, Kaidan looked tired--he hadn’t shaved, and clearly hadn’t slept. Well, neither had she.

“Hey. There you are.”

“You ready?” She tried to return his smile, but stopped just short. There was a space between them that Shepard longed to fill, but her eyes flickered to the soldier behind them.

“Absolutely. For anything. Bring it on.” Kaidan’s voice was too calm.

“And Biotics Division? Your students?”

A short laugh punctuated his reply, “More than ready. Eager.” Kaidan shook his head, smiling, “That’s youth for you. Guess we’re old soldiers, hey Shepard?”

She rolled a shoulder back and relaxed into a smile, “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“Comrades in arms.” Kaidan’s smile flickered, and he looked away, “We know the score.” It seemed like he had to force himself to meet Shepard’s eye. “We know this is goodbye.”

Shepard’s nostrils flared, and she swallowed, bridging the gap between them, “When this is over, I’m going to be waiting for you.” Her eyes began to sting, and her voice cracked. “You better show up.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Kaidan moved in closer to her as well, voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’m gonna fight like hell for the chance to hold you again.” He stepped back.

“But, listen. There’s... things I want to say.”

Shepard breath came deep and ragged; she blinked a few times to try and clear her eyes, and waited.

“Looking back... I have a few regrets, but not many. That’s pretty damn amazing, right?” A ship lit up the sky in the distance; Kaidan turned to look at it, but Shepard kept her eyes trained on him for a few moments. “Messed up kid that I was, I never would have dreamed of the life I’ve had.”

They watched the sky, “And I owe a lot of that to you, you know?”

She swallowed again, “It’s been quite a ride.”

“It sure has. But how are you doing? Scared?”

Her lips twitched upward, “Damn straight I’m scared.” When Shepard turned her head back toward Kaidan, he was watching her, intent, “But that fear’s gonna keep me alive long enough to strike these bastards right through the heart.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” His heart clearly wasn’t in the words--there was a faint smile on his lips and, yes, fear in his eyes. Shepard took a half-step backward and looked at the soldiers behind Kaidan again.

“So... take care, Major.” She turned her face from him, eyes stinging again. Down the street, she glimpsed the unmistakable outline of Vega. He was watching them, but he was too far away for her to get a read on his expression. Shepard looked down and began to walk toward the lieutenant.

Kaidan grabbed her arm, pulled her in, and kissed her full on the lips. The kiss was soft, insistent, and there were tears on both their cheeks when they parted.

Kaidan’s voice came breathy and hurt, his eyebrows furrowed, “I can’t lose you again.”

 

  
  


 

12


	5. Epilouge

_Major Alenko,_

_I’m not sure when you’ll receive this message, since nobody has heard from the Normandy since London. Comm systems are coming back up, so I hope this reaches you shortly._

_I’m currently situated in London as part of the recovery efforts, and would appreciate if you would agree to meet me. There’s someone here that you need to see as soon as possible._

_Miranda Lawson_


End file.
